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by adi_rotynd



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Creepy, F/M, Gen, Horror, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adi_rotynd/pseuds/adi_rotynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Will wants a family, Terri will give him a family. And if he wants his precious glee kids - two birds, one stone. (For a prompt, and for gleebang, which means it has some bangin' art right <a href="http://tamakito.livejournal.com/12518.html">here</a>!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy, and by all means comment should it strike your fancy, my best beloveds.~

**Spoilers:** Up to 2.22  
 **Warnings:** Kidnapping, violence, ableism, homophobia, physical abuse by a caretaker, a smidgen of Stockholm's, serious injury, tertiary character death.  
 **Disclaimer:** RIB and FOX own everything ever.  
 **Beta:** [RDM](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rdm_ation/)

Terri was a big-picture person.

When she was six years old, she asked for a dollhouse for Christmas. It was a very specific dollhouse. It was taller than she was, and both sides swung open to allow access to its thirteen rooms. It took up most of her cramped room, and she had to keep some of her clothes in Kendra’s room to make space.

The dollhouse had very convincing plastic in the windows and was painted the kind of white that hurt her eyes when the light hit it. It had a gray roof and green trim. It took her another two years to collect the furniture for it – beds that fit in her hands with pillows that slid between her fingers, dark shiny tables and chairs with spindly legs, rugs that looked like doilies, serving bowls the size of marbles. She never broke or lost a piece. She cleaned it once a week and never, ever let Kendra play with it. This was hers, she thought, and some day it would be hers for real.

When Terri was ten years old, Kendra asked her why she didn't have any dolls.

This was a puzzler and a little embarrassing. She had gotten everything ready and, focused on the ‘everything,’ forgotten why she was doing it in the first place.

For her eleventh birthday, she got a husband and a wife, as well as two babies, and decorated the babies’ rooms in pink even though her mother said that one of them should be a boy and have blue. Terri knew exactly what she wanted, and it involved pink.

Twenty years later, it involved William Schuester.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“What about yellow?”

Terri set down the towel she was folding and turned; for some reason, that voice made her think strongly of clean bathrooms and home cooked meals.

“I don’t think Kurt’s going to let you pick yellow,” said the six-foot Will 2.0 who used to be her subordinate, and _that_ was how she knew these kids – they were in that glee club her husband was so obsessed with. In fact, she suspected them of being responsible for reporting that she’d given them a perfectly harmless performance-enhancing drug when she’d been the school nurse. Teenagers: ungrateful and untrustworthy, every last one of them.

“Why not?” The tiny girl clutched at a package of yellow sheets. “Yellow has psychological benefits! Looking at it makes you feel happier, and I am going to be under a lot of pressure this coming school year. As a senior trying to get into a prestigious college in New York and the leader of our glee club for my last chance to win a title at Nationals, I am going to need all the subconscious boosters I can get.”

“I don’t think Kurt cares so much about that,” said – Finn. That was definitely his name. He had been awful at folding towels. “I think he cares about stuff going together. And not being yellow or pink.”

This was ridiculous. She couldn’t escape them anywhere. Thank goodness she was moving, but still. She wouldn’t be surprised if she went shopping in Florida and that bitch of a cheerleader popped up to insult her clothing. And really, for how invested Will was in them, she shouldn’t even have bothered trying to take Quinn’s baby; she should have just adopted Quinn when she got thrown out of her house by her idiot parents. Everyone would have won. Quinn would have a home, Will would still be with Terri, she wouldn’t have to move to Florida to escape the pathetic shambles of the life she’d spent years building and which now clung to her as so much detritus. Really, Will wouldn’t have dared leave her if they’d had a child, even a teenage one. Make it a child from that glee club and he wouldn’t even have _thought_ about it.

_Oh._

Terri looked closer at the kids examining their sheet options; there was another boy with them now, one whose name she couldn’t quite place. He tried to grab the sheets away from the girl by force, and she clung to them, both of them talking with increasing volume about why they were right.

Terri smiled.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Rachel, the entire point of this is to give you a room that doesn’t make me feel like I’ve fallen into a bottle of Pepto-Bismol every time we have a sleepover, and you seriously want to replace pink with _yellow_? It will look like a bowl of lemon sorbet! We are giving you a real grown up bedroom or so help me god –”

“I agreed to let you help me give my room a makeover on the condition that I got to make all the final calls, and my final call is that I want a yellow theme! My room should reflect my personality, and I am a happy person obsessed with stars, which are yellow!” Rachel pointed fiercely to the bright yellow star on her sweater, which she felt underscored her point quite well. Unfortunately, this weakened her hold on the sheets, and Kurt snatched them away.

“We will get you all the yellow stars you want, but your _room_ is not going to be yellow, and neither is your _bed_ if you expect me to sleep there ever again! I have suffered enough indignity at your hands with those cotton-candy sheets of yours.”

“Finn agrees with me!”

“Well, Mercedes agrees with _me._ So does Blaine.”

“That’s not fair, they’re not even here and you would manipulate their decisions.” Rachel spun on Finn. “You do agree with me, don’t you, Finn?”

Finn blinked. “What? Oh, yeah, totally. Could we talk again about why my _brother_ gets to sleep in your bed and I don’t? If anyone gets to suffer indignities at your hands, I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be me.” He smiled. “Did I mention that I agree with you about whatever this is?”

Rachel tried to decide whether she should yell at him and let Kurt explain that suffering indignities was a bad thing, or do the explaining and make Kurt be the bad cop, but was interrupted by a chirpy voice behind them.

“Are you kids finding everything all right?”

Rachel turned and, confronted with Mr. Schue’s ex-wife, died of embarrassment. Between knowing practically everything about their divorce and having scrubbed the woman’s bathroom…. She would almost rather have run into Jacob Ben Israel. “Mrs. Schuester,” she said desperately, and winced. “I mean, Ms – Del Monico! It’s so nice to see you! I was very sorry to hear about your divorce, which I did not in any way desire. I’m with Finn now. This is my boyfriend Finn, whom I love.” She grabbed his arm for emphasis. “I’m completely over any other crushes I may have had at any point.”

“Oh, really?” Terri frowned. “You two are together? That’s too bad. I thought you were Will’s favorites.”

“We’re the co-captains of the glee club,” Rachel explained as Kurt muttered, “Wher _ever_ did you get that idea?”

“Isn’t that a little – I don’t want to say incestuous, but I just did, so it’s too late now.” Terri laughed, but sobered rapidly. “Will always said you guys were like a family, but you date each other? Honestly, you look too young to be dating at all. Trust me, getting attached so early on in life rarely works out.”

“Oh… well…” Rachel looked around uncertainly, as if the yellow sheets or at the very least the blue ones might hold some kind of answer. “Not quite that close of a family…?”

“That’s more us,” Kurt said, pulling her under his arm. “Rachel and I are like siblings. She only dates all of the _other_ boys in glee club.” He laughed his awkward laugh.

Rachel turned the full force of her worshipful gaze (which she intended to patent) on him, both as positive reinforcement for his saving her from uncomfortable social situations – albeit by making them even more uncomfortable, but at least the onus was on him now – and because of what exactly he had said. “If I could have any boy in the world for a brother, I would pick you,” she blurted.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” said Terri, smiling. She looked oddly relieved.

“Wait,” said Finn. “Since Kurt’s my brother, and I’m dating you, if you two were siblings – doesn’t this make it even more incestuous than just the glee club thing?”

Terri, who was staring at Kurt now, ignored him. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“It’s Kurt. Kurt Hummel.” He took his arm off Rachel to shake her hand.

Terri clung to it, looking him over. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you from glee club. Were you there when I was the school nurse?” She beamed. “I had a brief but very successful stint. Sometimes I worry I may have missed my calling.”

“Um, yes,” said Kurt. Rachel imagined he wasn’t used to people not remembering him. He gently extracted his hand. “I’ve actually been there since Mr. Schuester started the club.”

“He was way shorter when you were there,” Finn explained.

Terri cocked her head, still staring at Kurt. “Oh, how silly of me! Of course, I remember you now.” She frowned again. “You have grown a lot, haven’t you?”

Kurt glared at Finn. “I suppose so.”

“Well… that’s all right. A girl should have an older brother. I’m sure you two have a beautiful relationship.”

“I’m so glad you approve.”

“So anyway, Mrs. Schuester, we were going to get some new sheets and curtains for Rachel’s room,” said Finn, who had no sense of tact but, to be fair, was being hit with a frightening death stare from Kurt. “And she wants to do yellow but Kurt doesn’t think that’s a good idea? Maybe you could help us out and I could get home in time for the game. Not that that’s important compared to Rachel’s room.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Terri said, putting a hand on Rachel’s arm. “What kinds of colors do you like?”

“Um, bright ones?”

“Green,” said Kurt. “She likes green. Think Elphaba, Rachel.”

“Well…”

“Green sounds perfect,” said Terri. “I’ll make a note of that. You kids have fun now!” She disappeared quickly into the back of the store.

“What,” said Kurt, “was _that_.”

“I think that was pretty normal for her, actually,” Finn pointed out. “So, green?”

“Excuse me,” Rachel said.

“Green,” Kurt said firmly. “And let’s just grab the sheets and go. We can get everything else… anywhere but here.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Howard,” Terri said, “I need you to call Sandy Ryerson and ask him to come here.”

“Mr. Ryerson?” said Howard, who lacked distinctly in all things resembling drive and ambition and who really should be on the phone already, seeing as she was the assistant manager and had given him a direct order. “You want me to call him and have come here? On purpose?”

“And then go and stock the shelves with those pillows, you know the ones – with the kittens sleeping in the monkeys’ hands like they’re about to be lunch. His number’s in my rolodex so I can call him when we get a shipping of anything colored fuchsia. Go!” Terri, for her part, pulled out her cell phone and called her sister. “Kendra,” she said, interrupting the standard “this had better be good”, “we _are_ going to get me a baby!”

“Oh, Ter. Did you find another one already? Honey, didn’t Will already drop you like four-week old pasta salad to chase that copper-plated floozy? Why don’t you come over and we’ll talk this out over some vodka.”

“No,” Terri snapped. “Not a literal infant.” She leaned around the door of the office. Kurt and Rachel were at the checkout counter, still bickering. “I found something better.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Rachel locked the door behind her, always safety conscious, and called, “Hello?” even though the house was dark. No one answered.

She sighed and dropped her shopping bags in the hall. She could take them up to her room later; she’d promised Kurt she would put the new sheets on, at least, since he was staying over tomorrow night to move her furniture out and to help her paint her walls. But she would have time before he got here tomorrow. She was tired and needed dinner. Proper nutrition was vital to a young adult, and eating after eight o’clock was extra-fattening, especially if one kept to an early schedule.

She made broccoli for the calcium and scrambled some tofu with spices as comfort food, even though she’d sworn off fried foods Monday through Friday. She ate it at the dining room table, which stretched away in front of her, reflecting the ceiling faintly.

Her dads called at eight-thirty, as agreed upon, to check in on her. She stared at her phone, waiting a few rings before picking up, even though all she was conscious of wanting was to hear their voices. Then she snatched it up, and almost dropped it trying to hit the answer button. “Hello?” she said.

“Hey, baby girl,” said Hiram Berry. There was faint orchestral music in the background, and the sound of silverware hitting glass occasionally. “How are doing on your own? Do you want me to call Mrs. Castle for you and see if she can come over for a concert? I know, I know you don’t like to go more than twelve hours without singing for an audience.”

“No,” Rachel sighed, “I spent today with Kurt and Finn, so we sang at each other a few times. And I think I’ll film and upload at least three YouTube videos of myself singing Broadway from the late 1950s tomorrow. I don’t feel quite up to entertaining tonight.”

“You don’t feel – Rachel, baby, I want you to sit down and put your head between your knees; your father and I are driving home right now.”

“Dad,” she said, allowing herself a small giggle. “I’m just tired. It’s fine. You guys should enjoy your mini-cation. I know how important it is to keep romance alive within a marriage, and since my therapist has moved back out I don’t think I could handle it if you got divorced. The emotional scars would make interesting reading for my eventual autobiography, but I’m not sure it would be entirely worth it.”

“Leroy,” Hiram said, voice growing indistinct as he held the phone away, “talk to your daughter, she’s having some sort of episode.”

“Rachel,” Leroy said very calmly, “the Xanax is on the top shelf of the refrigerator; I’ll talk you through the child-proof top.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she repeated. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight, that’s all. You’re overreacting.”

“Well, pumpkin, if you want us to come home early, I hope you know you just have to say the word. As soon as your dad’s had his massage, because I can’t take another two hours in the car with him without that massage.”

“No, I promise. I’m going to bed now. I’m tired and it’s important for me to get my beauty sleep.” She yawned ostentatiously. “I got quite a lot done today with Finn and Kurt – I just hope I didn’t overextend myself.”

“You are _not_ to overextend yourself, a girl with your fragile disposition,” Leroy said. “Go to bed right now, then, young lady, and call us tomorrow if you feel sick.”

“I promise,” Rachel said. “I love you.”

“We love you too. Hiram, tell her you love her.”

“We love and support you, baby!”

“Okay, goodnight,” Rachel said, a bit hurriedly, and hung up. Something creaked, somewhere in the house, and she jumped. “Hello?” Clutching the phone to her chest and digging in her purse, she advanced on the door to the living room. “I have a rape whistle and I’m dialing the police,” she added, voice going shrill.

A lace curtain, which Hiram hated with a deep and abiding passion but Leroy had insisted on when he lost all the other battles over interior decoration, wafted gently in the breeze from the open window. Nothing else happened. Rachel sniffed and closed the window.

There was no one in the kitchen, or the hallway, or the bathroom or any of the bedrooms. She locked the doors and windows, and the basement for good measure. She took a thorough shower, washed her face, and went to bed.

She lay there for a long time with her eyes open, and wished that her dads didn’t trust her to be _quite_ so grown up – maybe not _all_ the time.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

There were too many people in the house. This wasn’t a problem Kurt had ever encountered before, but it was suddenly a pressing one.

He’d never in his life had to work at getting privacy in his own home. Even when his mom was alive, his dad worked all day, and anyway both parents had been perfectly content to let Kurt wander off to his bedroom to bedazzle something alone when he was ‘in a mood’; this averted a great deal of conflict before it could begin.

Then for years, after his mom died, the house had been _his_. His dad had a set of rules about how much Kurt was allowed to do to the living room – _not enough_ , in a word – but the upkeep and décor had been Kurt’s domain. And since his dad was at work so often, the whole place was Kurt’s oyster, as it were. Add a whole floor as his bedroom even when his dad was home….

And suddenly, every time he turned around there was someone there.

Carole had gotten more say in how to decorate this house, so it was cozy but only barely this side of tacky, and only because she was willing to let him guide her. It was an unfamiliar space, and there was always someone in it. The basement and attic were unfinished and filled respectively with must and dust to which he refused to subject his lungs or his clothes. The first floor was big enough, but very open; you always knew what everyone else was doing in the other rooms – Finn playing a video game, his dad watching TV, Carole reading a thriller. The second floor was just _small_. There was space enough, technically, but it had been chopped into three bedrooms and two bathrooms, meaning everything was right on top of everything else. Whenever someone came up to get something, they knew instantly where Kurt was and what he was doing.

Kurt wasn’t secretive, exactly, but when Carole asked him how he’d enjoyed _Funny Girl_ over dinner when he hadn’t told anyone he’d watched _Funny Girl_ , he found himself surprisingly irritated.

Fortunately Carole had followed this up with, “You know, I never got that movie. Are we supposed to think she went back to that irresponsible man after the song with all the black?”

“Oh my god, Carole, you have to watch it with me. I will walk you through it so that you can appreciate it properly – maybe we’ll have Rachel over – you’ll see, it’s only the most amazing movie ever made. Of course the real Fanny Brice was only on her middle marriage with Nick Arnstein, but she did have a huge ‘My Man’ complex about him; she visited the man in Sing-Sing and still thought he’d make a great husband…”

But the point stood. She shouldn’t know what he’d been doing. No one should, unless he told them.

And instead it was all, “Dude, can I borrow that music you were listening to earlier?” and “Hey, buddy, how’d that math problem end up treatin’ ya?”

He resorted, today, to hiding in the back yard. It was smaller than their last one, but prettier, since Carole had started a rock garden and his dad had let him splurge on some lilac bushes along the back – it was sort of busy-looking, but nice. He’d set up a lawn umbrella and a chair and was driven, today, to doing the summer English assignment.

“Hey, kiddo.”

And there it was. “Hi, Carole.”

“What are you reading?” Carole set a laundry basket down by the small stand she’d set up in lieu of a real line.

Kurt took a deep breath. “ _The Little White Bird_.”

“Oh, how is that?”

“So far? It’s creeping me out.” He set the book down. “Do you want help hanging?” _Even though I keep telling you it’s detrimental to half of these fabrics to leave them outside, and to all of the colors but the whites to be in direct sunlight._

“No, hon, you’re fine. Slow day, and I actually like hanging clothes.”

Kurt, mostly out of a general sense of bad grace, nodded and picked the book back up. His dad was in the kitchen and Finn was practicing on the drums upstairs; it wasn’t like moving was going to get him any more privacy. This was it.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Terri had realized that all she was missing to give Will that _feeling of family_ was an actual family. And now she was on her way to giving him one.

She stood in the middle of the camper and clapped her hands. “Oh, Kendra. I love it.”

“Phil thought we could go camping this summer.” Kendra sipped her martini. “I told him I would rather eat rat poison than spend a month trapped in a vehicle with him and my two demon spawn, and he went out and bought this thing anyway. Believe me, you are doing me a favor getting it off my hands.”

Terri beamed. “I don’t think I’ll mind the drive with mine.” She didn’t want to rub Kendra’s face in it, but hers were older, and much better behaved.

The door to the camper slammed open. “Oh my dear Lord,” said Sandy, climbing the two steps up and managing to make it look like a precarious operation which might well end in his death. “Honey Badger, I hope you’re not seriously considering driving to Florida in this thing with any kind of company. I find that for people of our disposition, a minimum range of ten square feet of free space is safest, especially on a bad morning. My dear departed Aunt Lucinda tried to drive across the country in one of these in the fifties and died, either of asbestos or rat poisoning, we never did find that out for sure.”

“Sandy, you’re looking very pastel,” Terri said with what she considered superhuman patience, given that she was expecting. Then she dropped the patient tone. “Did you bring everything I told you to?”

“Oh, aren’t we using code names for this?” Sandy set his bags down on the admittedly cramped counter running along the wall nearest him and spread his arms, allowing a pink cape to flutter beneath his conspicuous white trench coat.

“Pink Dagger,” Terri said, “did you bring me what I need?”

“I did,” Sandy breathed. He patted the bags, one brown paper and tightly folded at the top, the other a small canvas suitcase. “You have enough drugs in there to put an angry bull elephant to sleep every day for a month, two weeks, and five days; I have that on the authority of my doctor.” He poked the suitcase, which clinked. “And these have been thoroughly cleaned with bleach. They’re very high quality; I know a man who lost the key to one of these babies and had to gnaw through his wrist to escape.” He sighed gustily. “Carlisle was never the same after; he would play the piano one-handed for days without showering. I believe his mother had to euthanize him in order to redecorate the music room.”

“That’s so sad,” said Terri, who didn’t care at all. “I’ll make very good use of everything, thank you, Sandy.”

“On this horse that you’re transporting,” Sandy said.

Kendra was staring at him with open and revolted fascination. “I don’t know what kind of yellow that is,” she said, gesturing to his pants, “but I want a color swab of it. I think I could train the ginger devil children to yack whenever they see it.”

Sandy sniffed and ignored her with what, in him, passed for dignity. “I want my payment, Honey Badger. I can’t tell you how I’ve coveted that thing; it will be just perfect for my little darlings.”

“It’s in the front hall of the building,” Terri said, rustling through the paper bag and running over the hypodermic needle procedure she’d found on the internet. This would be easy. She’d been a nurse. “Howard will help you get it.”

“Where is he?” Kendra drained her glass. “He was supposed to get me a refill bottle.”

“Howard,” Terri shrieked; she could be very piercing when necessary.

“Coming,” Howard said mournfully from somewhere outside.

“That man,” Terri said. “It’s like a cow lowing. And he’s as slow-moving, too. You get someone arrested _one_ time and you’re punished with passive aggression for the rest of your life.”

“I have your groceries,” Howard said, stumping up into the camper. He was largely invisible behind the pile of plastic grocery bags in his arms.

“You can put them away later. Right now I want you to help Mr. Ryerson collect his payment.”

Sandy coughed.

“Help the Pink Dagger collect his payment,” Terri corrected.

“Okay,” Howard said, and turned to stump back out with Sandy on his heels.

“I can’t believe you’re finally giving that thing up.” Kendra leaned over to peer out the tiny window nearest her.

Terri joined her, making a mental note to cover the windows completely and securely before she picked the kids up. Outside, Howard and Sandy weaved back and forth under the weight of the white dollhouse they were hauling to Sandy’s car. “It was time,” Terri said. She smiled, dreamy. “I have the real thing now.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x **Three Weeks Later** x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Rachel’s nine to twelve Sunday ballet lessons could be a burden to get to in the summer. She had to get up at seven after staying up until one in the morning squeezing out every last second of making-out time before Finn’s more generous holiday curfew, which was not ideal.

She had yet to miss a class, though; missing classes was a slippery slope. You skipped one chemistry exam and the next thing you knew, you were smoking behind the bleachers with the Skanks and eating cat excrement in your spare time. Anyway, she had made herself an inspirational poster using copious amounts of gold glitter and that saying about how if you missed three practices your audience could tell. Kurt had even let her keep it in her redecorated room.

And bothersome or not at seven in the morning, by twelve Rachel was always glad she had gone. She did a few twirls on her way to the car just to enjoy it. She felt graceful and empowered, ready to face the rest of the day as a future star. She also felt sweaty and a little rank, but that was the price for legs as toned as hers.

She was always the last to leave; being more invested and ambitious than the other students, she usually had questions that took up a great deal of time. She knew Ms Calver appreciated her interest, though. Why, just today, she’d told Rachel that she’d never had a student like her before. Rachel made a mental note to try to convince Kurt to join again; Finn was a completely lost cause, but she couldn’t bring herself to give up on Kurt. Maybe if she tried through Blaine – he was less sensitive about the things he arbitrarily decided were too “girly” for him. And, she thought hopefully, Blaine would look _incredible_ in tights –

“Rachel?”

Rachel dropped her keys with a small scream; between her being the last one to leave and most of Lima being either at brunch or church, she was usually alone right about now.

“I’m sorry,” said Ms Del Monico, smiling. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, no.” Rachel bent and scooped up her keys, trying not to scratch her nails against the pavement. Mercedes had spent hours getting this shiny polish just right, and it even complemented her new green-and-gold room. “That’s okay. Are you here to discuss dance lessons with Ms Calver? I think there is a class for our more well-aged citizens, and I think it’s so admirable of you to take up active hobbies after your divorce. Barbra Streisand never let a few divorces get her down, either.” A car revved behind her, which was odd given how deserted the lot seemed, but it would have been rude to turn away from Terri. And – she didn’t really want to let Terri out of her sight just now. Not with that smile.

“No,” said Terri. She kept smiling. “I’m not here for dance lessons. I was hoping to see you, actually.”

“Oh.” Rachel frowned. She really hoped this wasn’t about her very brief and misguided crush on Mr. Schue, but from the stories she’d heard, Terri was a very jealous woman. She braced herself emotionally; this would be an ordeal, but it would look fabulous in her unauthorized biographies. “What can I do for you, Ms Del Monico?”

“Oh, no, no.” Terri stepped forward, close to Rachel – into her personal bubble, actually. Rachel wasn’t normally aware of her personal bubble, but suddenly, she emphatically was. Terri didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. She reached up and stroked Rachel’s hair, looping it behind her ear. “Sweetie, I’m going to do _so_ much – for you.”

“I see,” Rachel said carefully. “In that case –” and someone grabbed her from behind.

She had time for one brief, shrill scream before she was blinded, air cut off by a cloth spread over her face and pressed into her nose and mouth; her arms and legs were trapped between Terri and the person behind her and for a second she thought Terri was helping – trying to push the other person away – and she realized too late that the scant air she was getting was sour, singeing her lungs…

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“You don’t think anyone heard her, do you?” Kendra hunkered low in the back seat of their rental, diligently duct-taping Rachel’s wrists and ankles. Terri really didn’t know how she’d repay her sister for this one. “She’s got lungs on her like those baboons at the zoo that wouldn’t shut up when my kids were throwing banana chips into their cage.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. They probably thought she was bursting into song and then changed her mind. These glee kids are so flighty.” She peered into the rearview mirror, adjusting it until she could see Rachel’s knees, the only bit of her visible from the driver’s seat, as the girl was bundled onto the car floor. “You have the shot, don’t you?”

“You worry too much, Ter.” Kendra brandished the needle. “Just give me a second to find a vein. I remember this from that year in community college; I won’t even leave a bruise.” She hauled limp arms up into her lap. “Didn’t I drug your experimental girl just fine?”

“I think we should just sneak up on Kurt,” Terri said, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “It’s a little upsetting talking to them and then knocking them out. I didn’t mind so much with the last one, but she wasn’t mine.”

“Sweetie,” Kendra snapped. “You have got to toughen up, and you have got to do it now. Kids are nothing but hell on earth, and you better be ready for it. They will hold you down and eat your heart out of your chest unless you arm yourself with emotional steel.”

“Oh.” Terri craned her neck and managed, finally, to get a glimpse of Rachel’s face. Her cheeks were squished by the tape, a faint line drawn between her eyebrows. She was adorable. She did not look capable of tearing anyone’s heart out. Still, Kendra did have more experience. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Terri decided.

“You’d better,” Kendra said very emphatically, jabbing the needle into Rachel’s arm. “I know you think you’re up for it after what you went through in Florida, but you have no idea. Remember I told you this, Terri. These kids will break your heart.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Kurt had a standing date with Blaine on Sunday evenings this summer. This was effectively meaningless; unless Kurt was helping Rachel redesign her room or having dinner with his family, he was with Blaine anyway, and setting a formal date was somewhat moot.

He’d been grateful for it tonight, though; he’d spent most of the day helping his dad and Carole go through boxes from the attic in order to sort out anything left over from the move that they could get rid of. Having a prior commitment made for a graceful and polite extraction, and an excuse to shower immediately and get dressed up, which was nice after more than three hours wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt.

And – some of his mom’s clothes had been up there, buried under jerseys from his dad’s days on various football teams. Kurt had been the one to suggest that it might be time to let them go. Carole had reached out to touch his arm and then snatched her hand back, looking at Burt. _“We’ll remember her without some old jeans and sweatshirts,”_ Kurt had said, and leaned toward Carole until she hugged him. _“We’re getting rid of the jerseys, too, though,”_ Kurt demanded, and she’d laughed, and everything had been fine, it was just – he was glad he’d been able to see Blaine.

And folded expertly into the bottom of his messenger bag right now was a cheap sweatshirt that said _Tiptoe through the Tulips_ over a tacky picture of purple flowers; it smelled mostly of years in a cardboard box but, at the neck, something of her perfume lingered.

He reached over to pat the bulk at the bottom of the bag and nearly missed the car parked on the side of the road, directly under the lone working street lamp, blinkers flashing. Even seeing it, he would have driven past – he was not in the habit of getting out of his car on dark roads to check on strangers, especially when the local news was starting to rumble about the disappearance of a girl his age. No one he knew, but his dad was edgy about it, and he didn’t want to worry him.

Except it wasn’t a stranger; waving forlornly at his car was Terri Del Monico.

“What in the world,” Kurt muttered, and seriously considered swearing. This was a ridiculously under-used route; it was his favorite shortcut from Westerville back to Lima, but it was also just this side of a dirt road, most of the lights were busted, and at eleven o’clock at night it could be counted on to be entirely deserted. What Mr. Schuester’s ex-wife could be doing on it at this hour he had no idea.

Still. Never let it be said that a Hummel gentleman would abandon a lady in distress. Kurt sighed and pulled over, abandoning sweet thoughts of a bubble bath before bed and resigning himself to fixing something on her car and being asked uncomfortable questions about his favorite color. “Ms Del Monico,” he said, sliding out but leaving his car running for now. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Kurt!” Terri rushed toward him, teetering in high heels on the rough pavement. “You are just the person I hoped to see!”

“What’s wrong with it?” Kurt asked, reaching out to steady her when she planted a heel squarely in one of the cracks in the road where some vengeful plant life was making a comeback.

She blinked at him. “What’s wrong with what?”

“Your… car…?” Kurt gestured toward it.

“Oh, don’t get me started on that thing. Do you know I’m paying ninety-nine dollars a day for it? And the brakes squeal! I plan on making a strongly-worded complaint and getting some kind of refund. It’s just ridiculous.” She shook her head, caught up in the appalling lack of justice in the world.

“So the problem is the breaks,” Kurt offered.

“That and the smell. The air freshener is just offensive.”

“Most of them are,” Kurt couldn’t help agreeing, though he did manage to move them closer to the car. “What scent did you get stuck with?”

“It’s called Midwinter Eve. That’s not even a scent. It would barely make a good name for a paint color.”

“And they would use it in July,” Kurt said sympathetically. “These agencies really must be stopped.”

Terri beamed at him. “It’s so nice to have someone who understands,” she said, and then things got very confusing, mainly because of the cloth that was wrapped around his head; someone punched his stomach and when he gasped in pain, the air was awful, sticky and sharp, and then his head started to swim.

He thought, just before he went under, that he was definitely going to miss his curfew.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Terri sighed happily as Kendra grunted and struggled to hold Kurt up. “He’s such a sweetheart,” she said.

“He’s a prince,” Kendra agreed, “but he’s heavier than he looks. I want fashion tips from this boy, he weighs twice what I’d have guessed. Help me get him in the back.”

They weren’t in nearly the kind of hurry they’d been with Rachel, and Terri bent over the backseat as well, taping Kurt’s mouth and wrists while Kendra got rid of his shoes and attended to his ankles. “Thank you so much,” Terri said, making sure to loop the tape over his fingers to avoid any unwanted scrabbling. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I did turn out to be pretty good at spying, didn’t I?” Kendra grinned, tying Kurt’s shoelaces together considerately. “And I chose those three pickup spots perfectly. You know, next time I think Phil’s cheating on me, I won’t even hire Mr. Enderson to follow him around snapping pictures with a telescopic lens. I’ll just do it myself.” She waved the boots around. “Where do you want these?”

“Oh… in the trunk,” Terri said. “I don’t think he’ll need them, but you never know.” She leaned up to retrieve the needle and drugs from the glove compartment. “Honestly, Kendra, you’ve been an absolute lifesaver. All the time you’ve spent on this for me, not to mention postage to get the plans down to me in time…”

“Don’t worry about it, Ter.” Kendra tossed the boots into the back, then slid into the passenger’s seat and retrieved a flask from the still-open glove compartment, unscrewing the top and taking a swallow. “We’re family. Our grandmother shot a man in the back of the head for Great-Aunt Lily once, remember. I think he’d spilled fruit punch on her gray dress. Sometimes I wonder about the brains and blood getting on that dress.”

“It all came out,” Terri said absently, twisting the belt she’d brought along for the purpose around Kurt’s arm and tapping it, waiting for a vein to show. He had beautiful skin. “Mom wore that dress for her fortieth birthday party.”

“You’re right.” Kendra knocked back another gulp. “Didn’t she hold her purse over her right hip the whole time, though? I wonder if that was to hide a little bit of a bloodstain.”

“I want to know what Gran was doing with a gun at a school dance,” Terri said, shaking her head. Guns were so nasty and unnecessary. You could get any job done just as well without them. She slid the needle under Kurt’s skin gently, wincing in sympathy.

“That woman carried a pistol at my sixth birthday party,” Kendra said. “It had pearl handles. It clashed with her dress something awful.”

Terri patted Kurt’s cheek and slid him down to the floor of the car, throwing a quilt over him. You couldn’t be too careful. “Oh Kendra,” she said impulsively, leaning up to grab her sister’s hand. “I’m going to miss you when we’re in Florida.”

“You can always call, honey.” Kendra blew her a kiss. “Anyway, you won’t even notice. Your hands are going to be full with these two, I can tell you that.”

“Maybe with Rachel.” Terri sighed happily and moved up to the front, starting the car. “But Kurt… he’s older, and he can discuss a good color palette. I don’t know, Kendra. I just feel like… I’m not only getting a son. I’m getting a friend.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Rachel was aware, once in a while, of fuzzy things. They touched her hair or played with her clothes; once they swam above her and she could see them, dark yellow and blue. Usually she heard them. They would slither up to audible level and waver there before subsiding again. _“Sweet girl,”_ they said, and _“Don’t leave the key there,”_ , and _“I need a gin and tonic almost as badly as I need to pee.”_ Once it was, _“No, I want to put them together; they’ll be scared, and a brother should take care of his sister,”_ and she had wanted very badly to explain that she was an only child, that this was one of her most grievous sorrows, and so she had no brother. Then she wondered why she was assuming she was the sister in question and things went away again. 

Sometimes, there was humming. 

The first time she woke up, it was to a set of increasingly alarming circumstances. Her mouth was dry, her head was pounding, and she was cold. Her left arm was asleep, and her hands were trapped behind her back. This was due to what she could only assume was a pair of handcuffs, especially given that her ankles were similarly bound and she could, if she craned her neck, see those ones. 

She was cold because she was lying on a linoleum floor wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt. It wasn’t much shorter on her than some of her smaller skirts, she told herself. That thought did not help. 

There was something over her mouth. She screamed anyway, and it sounded small even inside her own head. 

It did, apparently, reach Kurt, who stirred. She hadn’t noticed him until he moved. He was in the exact same position – chained, gagged with duct tape, barefoot, and barely decent in someone else’s old t-shirt. 

Rachel started crying. 

“Oh, no,” someone cooed, and a hand smoothed her hair away from her cheek. It was soft and smelled of a lotion she’d used herself a few times, almonds and cherries. “Rachel, you’ll get all swollen. Shhh, you’re fine.” Terri Del Monico moved slowly into view, crouched beside them on the floor. “Does anything hurt, sweetie?” 

Rachel had read about kidnappings, and seen programs about them on TV, only some of them fictional. She tried to think of tips, but everything was jumbled together in her head – establish a rapport, tell them your name, avoid seeing their face, don’t give up your gun – and it didn’t matter because all she managed to do was cry harder. 

“I asked you a question,” Terri said. “I want a yes or no answer. Does anything hurt?” 

Rachel nodded, frantic and thoughtless in equal parts. 

“What is it?” Terri sounded mildly put out. “You really shouldn’t be in pain. I’ll string that horrible man up by his imported shoelaces if he lied to me about these drugs. Where does it hurt?” 

Rachel managed to flop over onto her back, crushing her hands and exposing most of the leg the shirt had covered, and to nod toward her left arm. Waves of numbness, prickles, and outright pain chased each other down in its length with her change in position. 

“I left you too long,” Terri said, putting a hand to her temple. “I’d forget my own head if it weren’t attached! Can you believe I’d be this silly?” She put her hands under Rachel’s shoulders and heaved her up into a sitting position. Rachel, lower body entirely exposed, hunched over, still crying; Terri ignored this and started gently massaging feeling into her arm. 

Kurt jerked, eyes opening completely, and made a strangled sound behind the tape. 

“Hush, now, you need to set an example for Rachel, sweetheart,” Terri said. Keeping one hand in motion on Rachel’s increasingly painful arm, she reached out with the other to touch Kurt’s forehead. He twitched away, falling onto his back and choking when he landed on his twisted hands. 

Rachel let her head drop onto her knees, pressing against her eyes until electric green stars exploded against the black. _Baby, you’re a firework,_ she thought. 

She looked back up when Terri moved away. She was pulling Kurt up to sit with his back against her, probably because he was taking this worse – or more violently – than Rachel had and was thrashing wildly. 

“Hey, now,” Terri said, fastening her hand in Kurt’s hair and yanking his head back. “Don’t scare your sister. You’re both fine, don’t get hysterical.” She patted his shoulder before wrapping her arm around him, holding him still. 

Rachel looked around; Terri was distracted, maybe she could get out (and send help, Kurt would make it until help got there) – but there was a closed padlock on the only door she could see in the cramped space. There were several windows – a small one to the right, a long one with smaller ones beside it to the left – but there was something blocking most of the light from the outside and she’d never be able to get out of them in time. 

“If both of you will calm down,” Terri said, “I can give you some food. You kids must be starving.” She pinched Kurt’s cheek. “How about that? Can you both take deep breaths and calm down enough for me to take your gags off?” 

Rachel nodded desperately, already getting ready, taking deep breath in preparation for screaming loudly enough to burst any nearby eardrums. Kurt stilled reluctantly, eyes darting to meet Rachel’s, before nodding as well. 

“Good.” Terri smiled, sliding away from Kurt and standing. “Hold still, sweetie.” She gave a moue of apology. “This is going to hurt.” She ripped the duct tape off in one motion before leaning over and doing the same to Rachel. 

“ _Ow_ ,” Rachel said, and then looked at Kurt, and together they screamed. 

“Oh my God,” Terri mouthed, jumping back and clapping her hands over her ears. 

Rachel’s scream tore out of her, ripping her throat on the way. It was probably the loudest she’d ever been, and that was saying something. She could barely hear Kurt over the echo of herself in her head, but from what she could tell he was hitting an even higher note than she was. And they both had excellent lungpower. 

She outlasted Kurt by a fraction of a second, leaving them both panting. 

Terri sighed. “Are you two done? Really, what is wrong with you? Why would I park this in a residential area before you’re used to how things are? I promise you both: There is no one to hear you scream.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Kurt said. “ _What_ are you doing? Neither of our parents are rich –” 

Terri slapped him. 

Rachel screamed and then went silent. Kurt’s cheek slowly turned white. 

“Sorry,” Terri said. “That was an overreaction. I’m under a lot of stress right now, sweetheart. You’re going to have to be more helpful than this, okay?” She straightened her sleeves in brief, sharp gestures. “But you didn’t know the rule, so that was unfair of me.” She raised an eyebrow, shaking a cautionary finger at them. “No more talking about those people, do you understand me?” 

“What people? Our – our parents? You can’t be serious. My dad needs me at home, his heart – he’s sick.” 

“Kurt,” Terri said. “What did I just tell you?” 

Kurt’s jaw set. “Not to talk about the man who raised me and loves me and who could very well have a serious relapse if he has to worry about whether I’m dead or alive? You mean that?” 

Terri sighed. “I see,” she said, and hit him again. Harder. Kurt crumpled back onto the floor, lip bleeding. “This is hard on all of us, Kurt, and you could stand to be a little more considerate.” 

“Okay,” Rachel said. “We’ll stop. He’ll stop now. Won’t you stop, Kurt?” 

“Now, look, if your sister can be perfectly reasonable about this, I expect no less from you.” Terri shook her head. “This is going to be a tough transition, so I need you both one hundred percent on board with me.” She walked out of kicking range and helped Kurt back up, until he was sitting. “I want you both to remember that the lack of gags, the shirts, the food…” she reached into a paper bag on the counter, producing an orange. “These are all privileges, and I am willing to take them away if I need to. All the books say I have to get used to curtailing privileges right off the bat.” She squared her shoulders. “So here I go.” 

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Rachel whispered. Kurt’s cheek was turning red now, and the blood from his lip trickled down his chin. 

“Rachel, you can have something to eat now. If Kurt’s calmed down by the time you’re done, he can too.” 

Rachel wasn’t sure what she’d expected Kurt to do; he was as bound and helpless as she was. But he was taller and a boy and she’d just thought – that he’d be calmer, or braver – no, that being braver would get him something other than slapped around. Instead he was stuck hunched over a few feet away while Terri fed Rachel slices of orange and praised her for being such a good girl, and Rachel considered biting her hand but didn’t. 

“I know this is confusing for you,” Terri said when she’d finished, still stroking Rachel’s hair. “But everything will look a lot simpler very soon.” She straightened up and moved back to the counter. “How are we feeling now? Do you think you can contain yourself long enough to have lunch?” She looked Kurt’s way, wiping her hands clean with a tissue from a packet of hand wipes. 

“I have, astonishingly, lost my appetite,” Kurt snapped. 

“Kurt,” Rachel protested. “No, he’s hungry!” 

“You’re being very mature, Rachel, but I need to hear that from Kurt,” Terri said. 

“Come on,” Rachel whispered, as if Terri couldn’t hear. Some juice had gotten on her lip and it was starting to trickle down, echoing the blood on Kurt’s chin. It was driving her crazy. 

Kurt turned toward her, brows drawn tight. He drew breath to speak, but let it out, face crumpling. He nodded. “Yes, I – I would like to eat.” 

“That’s much better.” Terri beamed and started peeling another orange. She fed Kurt gingerly, and jerked her hand away a few times, but Kurt didn’t bite her either. Rachel kept thinking he would, and flashing back to the moment Terri had played with her hair – she could have gotten Terri’s wrist just then, she thought, and pictured Terri Del Monico bleeding to death on the floor of this tiny room, and then Rachel and Kurt struggling for days to escape before they succumbed to hunger, all three of their bodies discovered months later by accident. _I am not going to die like this, I am going to New York and I am going to be a star, this is going to look amazing in my biography._

Terri stood and wiped her hands clean again when she was done, and Rachel realized that she was still hungry – and thirsty, actually. She had a cut on her tongue, too, and the citrus was starting to really sting. She still wanted another orange, though, just because it seemed slightly more likely to happen 

“Now, I want you kids to behave,” Terri said. “I have to run to work for a few hours. Don’t waste time trying to get out, either. I’ve already tested it on an experimental subject and it’s very secure. The lengths I go to for you kids….” She grabbed some more wipes and cleaned her hands again, then bent to swipe Rachel’s mouth, finally putting a stop to that horrible itching. “I’m going to leave your gag off, because you’ve been very cooperative, and I appreciate that.” She dropped a kiss on the crown of Rachel’s head. “ _You_ ,” she said more, swiping Kurt’s mouth clean as well, “have been naughty, so I am going to have to gag you again.” 

“Don’t,” Rachel said. “Please, I – I want to talk to him, we’ll get lonely.” 

“Aww.” Terri ripped off a piece of duct tape from the counter with a sound that made Rachel flinch. “I’m sorry, sweetie. But no, I really have to be firm about these things.” 

Kurt was not especially cooperative about the duct tape; Terri hit him before it was on, and already there was a bruise forming where she’d hit him before. Rachel started crying again. 

Terri stood by the door and smoothed her hair down, fishing a compact mirror out of her pocket and checking her appearance. “You two be good, and I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said once she was satisfied that she did not look like a kidnapping psychopath. She produced a key from the same pocket and unlocked the door. Green-tinged light and fresh, hot air filtered in momentarily. Terri smiled over her shoulder at them. “Things won’t be like this for long. We’re going home.” 

She took the padlock with her, and it clanked into place outside. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Kurt curled over to afford himself what privacy he could manage, and tried to think instead of panicking. It didn’t go well. He didn’t even know how long he’d been unconscious with any certainty, or where they were, or what she planned to do to them – 

“Kurt,” Rachel said. “Scoot over here and help me up.” 

He stared at her, wild-eyed and uncomprehending. Help her up where, and what good with it do with both of them chained, oh god chained up like this was some dungeon. 

“Help me,” she said again, twisting to face him. “Help me stand up. We can find a way out while she’s gone.” Rachel’s face was smudged with tears and her eyes were red. Her hair was a wreck and she was barely dressed. She looked unutterably tiny. She did not inspire confidence. “We’re going to get out,” she said. 

Kurt nodded. 

“Good,” Rachel said. She smiled the way she did when Finn hurt her feelings by accident and she was trying to hide it. Kurt wanted to be home, he would even yell at Finn next time he did that instead of laughing if they just got to _see_ Finn again. “Good. So turn… turn your back to me. I’m going to push myself up.” 

This was a delicate and ridiculous operation which involved pinching the skin of Kurt’s back a lot; he was left feeling like he had carpet burn in an oddly specific line up his spine. Rachel fumbled and skidded her hands up his shirt and, probably due to pigheadedness and years of ballet, succeeded in standing upright.

The t-shirt she was wearing rode up until she was only just covered, and even then only when she stood completely still. Rachel tugged at it a few times, twisting her fingers around to manage it, but that only exposed more of her front. _It’s okay,_ Kurt wanted to say when she started sniffling again, _I’ve seen Santana wear a skirt shorter than that,_ except that it wouldn’t have been very funny just then. 

“Don’t look,” she said, sounding petulant. “I’m just… I’ll find something.” 

Kurt, avoiding Rachel’s lower half like a gentleman, still followed her progress around the room. She had to take very small steps, almost hops, but there wasn’t much room to cover. It was a trailer, Kurt realized belatedly, not a room. The counter, with a stove and microwave, took up one end. Across from the door was a tacky black pleather sofa, L-shaped to accommodate the nook it inhabited. There was another door set in a swell in the wall just beyond the sofa, and it was toward this that Rachel now hobbled. Breath hitching, she turned her back and managed to turn the knob, pulling the door out toward herself and teetering out of the way. 

“It’s a bathroom,” she reported, eyes welling. “Just a bathroom. That’s all right, see, we have more…” She made her way to the next door, facing the kitchenette and shoved into the cranny left after the bathroom was accommodated. This door opened in, and Rachel almost fell over backward but rocked onto her feet in time. 

Even from where he was Kurt could see that it was a bedroom, almost completely filled by the bed itself, which was bordered on both sides by the arms of a cupboard contraption allowing storage. 

“There’s a window,” Rachel reported. “Hang on Kurt, there’s a window!” 

Kurt gave a sob of anxious breath – Terri seemed so far _gone_ , he wouldn’t put it past her to have forgotten to cover this one; maybe they were going to get out after all. 

There was a bang, followed by a pained yelp. Kurt started rubbing his mouth frantically onto his shoulder, regardless of the blood that would get on his (already hopelessly wrinkled) cream-colored shirt; he had to get this tape off. 

Rachel reappeared in the doorway. “The window is covered there too,” she said limply. “And it’s all safety glass, or plastic, I can’t – I need something to hit it with, and… if I could get my hands in front of me…” Abruptly she sat down, hard, and Kurt thought she had given up until she started rocking. Then he thought she might have snapped. 

“Got it,” Rachel grunted. She had succeeded in slipping her legs through the loop of her arms. Clinging to the door, she stood up again. “I just need something to hit the windows with – or maybe the door, the real one, to outside…” She looked around, and Kurt followed her gaze, but there was nothing. The camper was bare, newly bought, still shining in the dim light. Even the cupboards lacked doors. The only sign of habitation was the grocery bag on the counter. 

Rachel walked over to the bag, standing on tiptoe to peer in. “Just more oranges,” she said, choking up now. “There has to be something we can use…” 

Kurt’s thighs were going numb from sitting on the floor. He shifted, trying to get his blood circulating. 

“We’ll find something,” Rachel said. “Maybe in the bathroom,” and she turned to walk back. 

Kurt, though uncertain how cashmere would affect the skin of his face, redoubled his efforts to get rid of the tape. He had started to peel the edge back a bit when Rachel came back. 

“Don’t,” she said. 

Kurt stared at her, and then went back to rubbing furiously at his shoulder. 

“Don’t do that.” She came back over to sit in front of him, eyes glassy and breath coming short. “You’ll ruin the tape and she’ll be able to tell.” She reached up, fingers splayed over his face, and ripped the tape off herself. 

Kurt, who when he was not being held against his will made it a strict policy never to breathe through his mouth, gasped for air as though it had been denied him. “There’s nothing in the bathroom we could use?” 

“No,” Rachel said. “Not even a towel rack or a toilet lid. The door to the shower is gone.” She reached to smooth her hair out of her face and missed, wrists clanking. “I don’t think she wants to kill us, though.” 

“Wouldn’t it be easier to not kill us if she didn’t knock us unconscious and lock us up with chains and tape in the woods somewhere? I was doing pretty well at not being killed by her while I was free to see my family and boyfriend.” 

“Oh _Kurt_ ,” Rachel said, and started crying. 

“No, you’re right,” Kurt said hastily. His eyes swam, then cleared. “Rachel, you’re right. I don’t think she does want us dead.” _Yet_. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Our families have both called the police by now. We’re going to get out of this. She’s not a criminal mastermind, she’s Mr. Schuester’s ex. She used to _work_ at our _school_. People know her. They’re going to find us.” 

“Yes,” Rachel said, looking up. What makeup was left on her face was hopelessly smeared by sweat and tears, and her hair was pasted to her forehead and cheeks. “I’ve been missing for – for at least a day, I think? My dads have the police flying helicopters by now.” 

“I was supposed to be home last night, I think. My dad and Carole have put out an Amber Alert. This can’t last much longer.” 

Rachel nodded, jaw setting. She settled onto her heels, peering into his eyes. “I want you to promise me something,” she said. 

“You’ve got it, princess.” Kurt wiggled his fingers, the extent of his abilities. “What could you possibly ask that is beyond my power?” 

“I mean it. You have to say this.” 

“Oh, fine. What is it?” 

“Promise me that we’re going to do whatever it takes to survive this.” Rachel glared. “I am _not_ dying in here, and you aren’t either. We’re going back to school when it starts up, and we’re going to Julliard, and we’re going to have an apartment in New York, and I’m going to be your best man at your wedding. Promise me.” 

“Well… you might have to duke it out with Mercedes…” 

“Anything,” she repeated. She leaned closer, eyes suddenly huge, filling his field of vision. Her fingernails, ragged at the edges and paint chipped, dug into his knees. “We’re going to do _whatever_ it takes. Aren’t we, Kurt. Promise.” 

Kurt swallowed. “I promise.” 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Rachel hadn’t been able to shave her legs in nearly a week, and this was suddenly bothering her. 

“Your _legs_?” Kurt scoffed. “How do you think _I_ feel? My face is staging a revolt, and in the near future I may well look like a backwoodsman.”

“Oh, Kurt, everyone knows you don’t even shave yet.” Rachel rubbed her legs together, wincing at the rasp of it. “I, on the other hand, occasionally shave twice in one day. I don’t think I can stand to be rescued in this state. The pictures that would go down for posterity? Ugh, I shudder to think.”

“You can have them professionally photoshopped for your unauthorized autobiography,” Kurt said. “And I do have to shave. Just not very often.” 

Rachel, who was lying on her side on the bed, propped herself up on both elbows, narrowly avoiding slipping and landing flat on her back when she failed to compensate for her hands being bound behind her back. “Let me see.” 

“What, my face? You’ve been looking at it for days. And nothing else.” This was not strictly true, as the shirts really were too short and there was only so much discretion they could practice without full mobility, but she knew what he meant. In between the bouts of terror, the boredom was stifling. 

“I still want to see.” Kurt, who had been lying with his back to her, sighed and rolled over. Rachel bent over him. “I can see a little stubble,” she conceded. 

“There’s no need to sound disappointed. Think how much entertainment it will provide you with in the coming weeks.” 

Rachel moaned and flopped back, tugging at her shirt when the motion exposed too much of her to the air. “When we get out of here, the first thing I’m going to do – after I kiss my two gay dads and have a long bath followed by a hot shower – _then_ the first thing I’m going to do is watch _Funny Girl_. Three times, and Finn is going to sing along with me or so help me God. And I’m going to eat scrambled tofu with various combinations of exotic spices until I throw up.” 

“Amen.” Kurt paused. “Not tofu, though. I am craving meat. Maybe a lean steak, even. Not my usual, but…” 

“What will you watch?” 

“I’ll be too busy catching up on every fashion blog and magazine I’ve missed. After that, though… I’m going to lie in bed with Blaine for a full day watching every illegal download on my computer of the performances of _Wicked_.” 

“My dads are going to sue her for so much.” 

“They’ll have to sue her corpse. Mine will just shoot her.” 

“Your dad is so awesome.” 

“Yes.” He nudged her shoulder with his head. “So are yours.” 

“Yeah.” Rachel’s throat closed. She wondered how long it had taken them to notice she was gone – if they had had any meetings she hadn’t known about, how many times they had tried her cell before they decided she wasn’t just busy with Finn. 

“Oh, this is so sweet!” 

Rachel yelped, trying to sit up and slipping back; she hadn’t heard Terri come in and oh _God_ , if she’d heard any of that – 

“I wish I could give you two a blanket,” Terri said, smiling down at them, “but I do have to take a firm tack about these things until we’re settled in.” 

“It’s the thought that counts,” Kurt sighed. He sounded something less than entirely sincere. 

“Don’t wallow in self-pity, sweetie, it’s not attractive. It’s very warm, anyway.” Terri patted his head. “Do you two need anything I _can_ get you?” 

“It’s been seven or eight hours since we last had a drink of water or anything to eat, so yes, that would be lovely.” Kurt ignored Rachel when she kicked him. It wasn’t true – Rachel could switch her hands to her front and then back again pretty easily by now, and Kurt had gotten the hang of it as well, so they had both gotten tap water, despite the ritualistic humiliation of having to bend over the sink in these skimpy things. 

Still, maybe Kurt had a point – he kept choosing the worst way to make it, but Terri probably should be aware that she had to be more careful with their lives. 

She did look stricken. “Has it really been that long?” She checked her watch and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry. And I’ll have to be gone even more for the next few days while I make sure everything is ready.” She frowned down at them. “All right, come here.” She patted Rachel’s foot on her way around to her side of the bed. 

“What’s happening?” Rachel stood up, legs shaking a little – she didn’t feel consciously hungry, but her body was heavy and slow. 

“Your brother is being a handful as usual, but he’s right.” Terri turned Rachel away from her and fiddled with her handcuffs. “I’m going to put you in charge of the food and water, all right, baby?” 

“I can do that,” Rachel said, trying to sound trustworthy and helpful. The handcuffs fell away for the first time, her shoulders protesting at the change in position – and Terri grabbed her wrist, spinning her around. Her grip was punishing, and any second-long flirtation with the idea of a physical confrontation flickered out. 

“There we go,” Terri said, snapping the cuffs back into place with Rachel’s hands in front. “All set.” 

Rachel refused to meet Kurt’s eyes, but she could feel his stare. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Three days later, the police knocked on Terri’s door. 

This was fine. She was ready and waiting. She opened up with a smile, making sure to let the door swing back toward the wall so that they could see into the apartment behind her, and allowing her smile to slip slightly as she took in their presence. She imagined that the kind of person who volunteered for a job with a gun was the kind of person who wanted to be taken seriously. Goodness, even Will wanted to be taken seriously, and the man danced around with Howard Bamboo and Sandy Ryerson in front of an audience. On purpose. 

“Good afternoon, officers,” she said. “How can I help you?” 

“Ms Del Monico?” said the short one. 

“Yes?” 

“I’m Detective Browning, and this is Officer Williams.” They flashed their badges. 

“May we come inside, ma’am? We have to ask you some questions. Just routine,” said the taller one. 

“Of course.” Terri stepped back, waving them in. “You’ll have to excuse the mess, I’m just about to move for my new job. I’ve been promoted to manager of a Sheets-N-Things in Florida. It’s quite a lot of responsibility.” She moved some boxes sideways along the couch, giving them just enough room to squeeze in if the short one was willing to cross his legs. “If this is about those parties the Doyles have been having at three in the morning, I would like to note that I was not the one that called them in this time, but I agree with whoever did. They’re just obnoxious.” 

“I’m afraid this isn’t about the Doyles,” said Browning, who was indeed crossing his legs, albeit uncomfortably. “We need to ask you about some missing children.” 

“Children? I’m sorry, I don’t have much to do with children.” She smiled. “Since I quit my nursing job, that is.” 

“You do know these two young people, though, we hear,” said Williams, holding out some photographs. Rachel posed, sparkling, in a yellow skirt, and Kurt looked dreamily into the distance while clutching a glittering pen. 

“Oh, Rachel Berry,” Terri said, eyes widening with recognition. “And… Carl? They came by my workplace a month or so ago.” She looked up, putting a hand to her chest. “They’re not the ones missing?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

“Oh.” She cleared her throat delicately and perched on the edge of a chair. “Well, I don’t mean to be insensitive, but has anyone checked the buses to New York? They’re very dramatic teenagers. Obsessed with showbiz. I blame the arts in schools, and you can quote me on that.” 

“We’re exploring all possibilities at this point in the investigation,” said Browning, expressionless. “As you said, you had contact with them before their disappearance. Can you recall what you talked about?” 

“Well, they came in with the Hudson boy,” Terri said, frowning at the ceiling as if it might jog her memory. “He used to work under me. They wanted to decorate a room, I think? As far as I recall, we talked about the color pink.” 

Williams leaned forward. “Did they do or say anything that struck you as unusual, did you maybe see anyone who seemed suspicious around them…? Anything at all, even if it doesn’t seem important to you right now.” 

“I’m sorry, it was a very ordinary conversation,” Terri said, shrugging. “They bought sheets and things. That’s what most people do at Sheets-N-Things. It didn’t stand out much.” 

“Do you get many teenagers buying supplies to furnish a home in Sheets-N-Things, Ms Del Monico?” asked Browning, looking down at a pad of paper he’d produced. 

“I guess not.” Terri folded her hands carefully. “But I’m pretty used to these kids pulling whacky schemes. They’re students of my ex-husband, Will Schuester. He used to come home with horror stories. I don’t think much they do could surprise me now.” 

“I see,” said Browning. Terri did not like Browning, she decided. “Thank you for your time,” he added, standing up. “And good luck with your move. It seems like a hectic one.” 

“Oh, no,” Terri said, standing as well and starting toward the door. “It’s all very under control. I was promoted months ago, in the spring. I’ve been getting ready ever since. I’ve already spent a few weeks in Florida, getting the house ready. I can’t wait to start over. Do things right this time, you know?” 

“I do,” said Browning. “Let us know if you think of anything,” he added, handing her a card. 

“I will,” Terri promised, tucking it into her pocket. “Goodbye, officers.” 

“Goodbye,” said Williams just before she shut the door on them. 

Terri stood in the apartment, letting the silence settle in. A car went by, sending a spot of reflected light sliding through the curtains. A pigeon cooed from a window ledge. 

She walked into the bedroom. There were no boxes here. Most of the boxes in the front room were empty. It would, after all, have been unthinkable to leave anything this late when she had children to think of, but appearances were everything. 

The bedroom was completely bare, and Terri settled onto the floor before producing her cell phone and scrolling through her contacts. She was directed to voicemail, so she hung up and called again. 

“Terri,” Will said when he picked up – but he did pick up. “This really isn’t the best time.” 

For a moment she didn’t speak, letting his voice settle back into her. It had been so long. “I just heard,” she said finally. “I’m so sorry, Will, you must be frantic. I know how much those kids mean to you.” 

“Yeah, I – I don’t know… I’m sure they’ll find them soon.” She could just see him looking around the room as if he might have forgotten a note detailing the kids’ exact whereabouts on a coffee table somewhere, running a hand through his hair and mussing it, those lost little nervous habits. 

“The police just left. They thought I might know something since I’ve met Kurt and Rachel, which makes me think they’re getting a little desperate.” 

“They have a lot of evidence,” Will said mechanically. “I’m sure something will turn up soon. Look, I really have to go. Emma and I are going over to the Hummels’ to see if there’s anything we can do.” 

“Okay,” she said very brightly. “Good luck. I hope you can make them feel better about the loss of their only children with a little apple pie and an aggressively clean sink.” She hung up, feeling significantly less guilty about causing Will so much pain. It was unfortunate, but really, he’d brought this on them all by being so ridiculous, and if he was going to throw his pet marmoset into casual conversation this way, it was just as well. They could stew in their anxiety and blind fear for a while, and let that eat away at their joke of a relationship. Terri had other things to take care of. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

For example, this: “Oh, you’ll thank me all right,” Kendra said, handing her a brightly wrapped package with a white bow crinkled on top. 

“Kendra! You’re spoiling me,” Terri protested, tearing the top off anyway. She stopped, dismayed, at the sight. “Oh, goodness. You don’t really think I’ll need this? They’ve been so good this far, and I’ve been managing very well.” 

“They haven’t been _that_ good,” Kendra scoffed. “And from what you’ve told me about them, I can tell you right now, Kurt’s going to be a handful right to your face, and that bitch Rachel is going to stab you in the back. What you need to do is make some pre-emptive strikes, and by strike, I mean fear, and I mean into their hearts.” She snapped her gum and tapped the box with a lacquered fingernail. “This’ll do the trick.” 

Terri nodded. She really didn’t like these things, but if Kendra thought so… “I guess it couldn’t hurt to have it on me, just in case.” 

“You’ll use it,” Kendra assured her. “I know you think you’re hot stuff after you got the trailer and house all ready and they worked on that girl, but you’ll get some use out of this thing, trust me, Ter.” 

Terri stared down, vision blurring. “I can’t believe I’ll be living so far away.” 

“Oh, baby!” Kendra leaned over and pulled her into a hug, although it took two tries; she was probably a little tipsy. She was well into an afternoon of watching her terrors. “I’ll call you _every single day_.” She burst into tears, which also might have a little to do with being tipsy. 

“I know you will.” Terri patted her back and tried not to break down herself, voice scratching past the lump in her throat. “Just don’t forget what we discussed about email. They can track those things.” 

“I’ll visit,” Kendra said indistinctly. “Since we can’t do pictures.” 

“Oh, you have to! Without Phil or the kids. God knows you deserve the rest.” 

“I promise.” Kendra sat back. “You’ll call when you get there?” 

“The very second.” 

“You should call while you’re on the road, too. I can help keep you awake. You’re looking at two days of driving with no one to talk to, just because those ungrateful brats aren’t ready to keep you company.” Kendra pulled out a compact mirror and started reapplying her mascara. 

“This is all very new for them,” Terri said. “Don’t be mean. I think mothers should be forgiving, don’t you?” 

“You’ll be able to afford it, with that little beauty.” Kendra patted her hand. “Just don’t forget to load it. An empty threat does no one any favors.” 

Terri started crying in earnest. “I’m going to miss you so much.” 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Kids!” Terri made sure to re-lock the door behind her and tuck the key on its durable chain well into her bra before looking for them. They had started moving around the camper over the last few days, which was good, since it was important that they make themselves comfortable for the long drive ahead. They had also, thank God, made use of the shower; they had been getting a little ripe, but once she left them a few bars of soap and a baggie of shampoo, that had been cleared right up. She even understood Kurt’s protestations about the limited number of ingredients he allowed anywhere near his face, and had promised him a battalion of his favorite lotions and soaps as soon as they got home. 

“In here,” Rachel called. Terri followed her voice into the bedroom, albeit slowly and with her eyes peeled; she wouldn’t put it past them to have some sort of trap set up, still. 

Not today, apparently. They were seated on the bed, hands intertwined – she had allowed Rachel to switch Kurt’s hands around to front as well when Kurt had begged very nicely, pointing out that there were basic necessities he was having trouble attending to, and anyway there was only so long a seventeen-year-old gay boy could go eating from a girl’s hands. She had, however, made a point of being across the room while the switch took place. “Hi, babies. What are you up to?” 

“We’re playing thumb war,” Kurt said. “ _Thumb war_ , Terri. Seriously, you have to get us some books or something.” 

“We’ll see.” She couldn’t think of any wholesome literature for young adults off the top of her head, but she could always swing by the bookstore on the way out of town. “You’re not getting anywhere by using my first name, though, young man. You’re going to have to do a lot better than that. Now, I need you two to lie down. We’re about to start our trip.” 

“Now?” Rachel looked over at Kurt. “Where are we going?” 

“I already told you. We’re going home. I put a lot of effort into getting it ready for us. We’re going to be very happy there.” 

“No.” Rachel stood up, teetered for a moment, and regained her balance, Kurt scrambling up beside her. “Terri, we’ve talked this over between ourselves, and we think you’re making a huge mistake. You could get in a lot of trouble for this if you don’t let us go _right now_. Kurt and I can’t go anywhere with you. We have lives here, and plans – we have families here. You have to let us –” 

“I really hoped you wouldn’t push me to this,” Terri sighed, pulling her gun. “Kendra told me I’d thank her, though, and she was right again.” 

Rachel shrieked and sat down very suddenly. Kurt followed her more slowly. 

“And I just spoke to your brother about using my first name that way. It’s disrespectful and I won’t stand for it.” 

“Ms Del Monico,” Rachel said quickly. 

Terri lowered the gun slightly. “That’s not what I want to hear.” 

“I’m sorry,” Rachel said. 

“I’m sure you are. We’re going to have to work on this.” She reached back into her purse and produced two hypodermic needles. “But right now I don’t have time to argue with you kids. I need you to lie back and relax. Remember, I am a nurse. And by the time you wake up, everything will be perfectly all right. We’ll be home.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Two**

There was a pattern to summer mornings in the Berry household.

Leroy got up at five in the morning and stifled the alarm on his phone before it could wake Hiram. He snuck out of the house on his tiptoes and went for a run.

In his absence, Rachel’s alarm blared. She changed into a workout outfit, banging the closet door and doing light vocal exercises along with some stretching. She climbed onto her elliptical for the quietest part of her morning. Finally she got in the shower, singing much more pronouncedly.

By the time Leroy got back from his run, Hiram would be awake and poking at the coffee machine while their daughter warbled away in the bathroom. Most importantly, there was no earthly way Leroy could be blamed for waking him. Rachel was the only person who could wake Hiram with no more punishment than “I was looking forward to sleeping in for once today, but someone was up at the crack of dawn, warbling away.”

Hiram’s mother had assured Leroy he oughtn’t take it personally; once she had woken Hiram for school and he’d thrown a shoe so hard that it lodged in the wall of their apartment and lost them the security deposit.

None of that happened now. Leroy stayed awake all night, hand on his phone in case it rang, in case it was the police or a hospital somewhere, or Rachel herself, calling from a stupid teenage stunt, maybe a road trip, sorry but safe. He couldn’t tell whether Hiram was asleep beside him or just breathing slowly. He was too hot but never threw the covers off and or moved away from his husband.

He still got up at five, but because he couldn’t lie there any longer, these days. Hiram’s eyes were closed, so Leroy went downstairs by himself and stared at the coffee grounds from yesterday. He thought he should clean them up. He kept staring at them instead.

At six-thirty, Rachel’s alarm chimed.

Leroy ran up the stairs, hitting his elbow against the railing on his way to her room. When he entered, Hiram had just silenced the clock and was holding it in one hand, weighing it.

This was the second time Hiram had beaten him. The first time had been that first morning. He had said, “I didn’t turn it off. I left the timer on. It’ll ring again tomorrow.”

 _Maybe she’ll be back by then_ , Leroy had thought, that morning and every morning since.

Now, they stared at each other and didn’t say anything at all for too long.

“We should go down to the station today,” Hiram said. He dropped the alarm on the bed suddenly, turning to leave the room. “I don’t, I don’t think the police department is taking this as seriously as they could.”

“I think they are,” Leroy countered, stepping out of his way and following him down the stairs. “You know they had to wait to be sure it was a missing persons case, and I agree that they were slow on the draw when they thought she’d eloped with Kurt because of that rumor during their last week of school about Rachel being pregnant with his child, but I don’t think it’s fair to say they’re not taking it seriously _now_.”

“Oh, you don’t think it’s _fair_ ,” Hiram repeated. “In that case!” He went straight to the coffee maker and started cleaning it out with short, abrupt gestures.

“I just don’t want you to barge in there on the offensive. It’s not going to make us any friends on the force,” Leroy pointed out. “But if you think we should go to station, we’ll go.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then we will.” He twisted his wedding band. “This is going to get big fast, Hiram. They’re not going to ignore it. They’re not going to be able to. Burt Hummel will be very helpful, and no matter what we are, Rachel is a beautiful white girl. She’ll be all over the news.”

Hiram was silent, hands stilling. He set the bag of fresh coffee down. “You think it will have a chance to get big?” he said. “Like that other girl, the one from a month ago. They’re not going to find her today, are they.”

“I don’t know. That isn’t what I meant.” But he didn’t think they’d find her today, he realized. He didn’t put any faith in this thought, since he was occasionally a pessimistic person and was guessing based on little to no evidence; it was perfectly possible that the police would track Rachel down this very afternoon. But still, he didn’t think they would, and it felt like a betrayal.

Hiram’s shoulders dropped, so Leroy chanced walking up behind him and folding his arms around him. Hiram sighed and wove their fingers together, and neither of them cried, not yet.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The house was emptier without Kurt in it, Finn thought.

This was technically untrue. Technically, there were more people now. There were reporters sometimes, because Burt and Mom were willing to do anything to get the word out. They granted interviews at home, with pictures of Kurt and Rachel clasped in their hands. Once Finn was on one of these with them, but he only smiled until his face stopped cooperating and he said please, please come home without knowing who he was saying it to and then they didn’t ask him to do it again.

There was family. A really old lady who smelled like booze was staying at a hotel nearby and spent most of the day at the house making meatloaf so that Carole wouldn’t have to cook. She insisted that Finn call her Aunt Mildred and she tried to smoke in the house until Finn explained that Kurt didn’t allow that kind of thing, and if she tried again he would dump her goddamn cigarettes in the sink. He had been sent to his room, but Aunt Mildred stopped smoking in the house and stopped looking at him with nothing but absent-minded pity.

There was also Andy, who did not insist on being called “uncle” and who clapped Burt on the back a lot. He was staying at the hotel with Aunt Mildred. He promised Finn that he could come up and use “the boat” sometime in order to get some alone time with Rachel. Finn wasn’t sure if that was an actual boat or a metaphor, but as long as someone else got how important it was to plan how to celebrate when Kurt and Rachel got back, he was good with it.

Mr. Schue came over a lot, and so did Ms Pillsbury. Finn spent a lot of time with Mr. Schue, because he got the celebration thing. Everyone was so busy finding Kurt and Rachel, they didn’t get how important it was to be ready when they did. Rachel had schedules planning everything decades in advance, and Kurt could throw together a _wedding_ on a week’s notice; how would they feel if they got back and there was no party?

And it wasn’t like Finn was any use with real stuff, important stuff. Not like Burt, who knew things and what to do, or Carole who held everything together, or the police, who could actually save people.

So he did this instead.

He’d been standing in the little half-aisle of party plates and hats in Wal-Mart when Mr. Schue found him the first time. He’d come running up, but slowed to a halt as he got near Finn and said in the careful tone people used on him now, “Hey, Finn. Your mom was starting to wonder where you went. What are you doing?”

“Do you think Kurt will be mad if I get _Wizard of Oz_ paper napkins?”

“…What?”

“I know they’re probably tacky, or something… but Rachel would really like them. And it would cut down on the laundry load after the party’s over. I think Kurt should appreciate that.” He stared at Judy Garland’s slightly distorted face and the tiny rays of light coming off her shoes. “Rachel really likes _The Wizard of Oz_. And it would remind them of _Wicked_. They both like that.”

“Finn,” Mr. Schue said, “I don’t… when they get back, they might be a little overwhelmed…”

“Kurt designed Jean’s whole funeral for Coach Sylvester.” Finn’s temple throbbed. “He would have for you – if you retired or something, he’d throw a party. We have to have a party when he gets back.”

“Okay,” Mr. Schue said. “Okay.” He looked at the paper napkins for a while. “Can I help?”

Finn had nodded.

So now they were the party planning committee, the two of them, while everyone else was busy.

Another person who was over a lot was Quinn. She smelled like cigarette smoke and sweat, and her hair was pink, which really didn’t make sense. Finn didn’t ask her about it because he’d waited too long and now he didn’t know what to say. He always waited too long when girls changed their hair. Usually it was because he didn’t notice, but this time he just didn’t know what the right reaction was. Pink wasn’t a hair color you saw a lot of in Lima. He thought he might have gotten it better if she’d gone with blue, because at least Tina would have sort of eased him into it.

“You need to shower,” Quinn said now, which was not fair, given how she smelled.

“That’s not fair,” Finn said.

“Shut up and take a shower.” She shoved him into the bathroom and leaned against the door so he couldn’t get out. Well, he _could_ , but he was afraid he would like – bounce her across the room with the door or something, so he just showered instead.

He couldn’t find any clean clothes when he got out of the shower, which was okay. Partly it was okay because he just hollered to Quinn that he needed some, and partly it was okay because he was used to losing things lately. Before whenever he needed something, he would just ask Rachel if he was out with her, or Kurt if he was at home, and they always knew where it was. Now he just didn’t know where anything was and he accepted that.

Anyway, it was better to be missing his cell phone and some clothes, or his car keys, or his school ID, or the five dollar bill he needed to grab some chips… all of that was better than when he woke up in the middle of the night and wandered around the house and found _everything_ but it didn’t help. Being up all night with that empty ache inside of him, that was the worst.

Finn carefully dried his hair with a separate towel, which Kurt said was important, and considered hanging it up the way Kurt wanted him to, but ultimately dropped it on the floor, so that the house would be just the way Kurt left it. He did have to send Quinn back for a gray shirt, because Kurt said dark colors went with jeans better, and he didn’t want them to get back and have his brother grossed out by his shirt clashing with his jeans. Maybe Rachel would like it better too. He wasn’t sure she cared so much about that, though.

“I’m hungry,” Quinn said when he left the bathroom.

“For meatloaf?”

“Mr. Schue will take us out.” Quinn grimaced. “I’m starting to smell like meatloaf. Your aunt has got to give it a rest.”

Quinn was wrong about smelling like meatloaf; she still smelled like sweat and smoke. But she was right about Mr. Schue taking them out. She just stood by the couch until he looked up and then said, “We need to get out of here. Take us somewhere to eat,” in her raspy new voice. Mr. Schue shared a look with Finn’s mom and then nodded.

So now they were sitting at Breadstix with Finn’s Party Planning Notebook, and also Mercedes and Blaine. Finn thought Blaine might be living with Mercedes lately; they always seemed to be together and it was confusing and not really his priority right now.

“I’m having trouble with the boat,” Mr. Schue said.

“Well, Andy has one, and he said we could use it. Kurt would totally dig a party on a boat. Rachel is a little afraid of them ever since she watched _Titanic_ , but she could wear a life jacket and if we have a lot of glitter around she probably won’t even notice the water after a while.” Finn looked at Blaine. “Doesn’t Kurt like boats?”

“Yes,” Blaine said. “He loves boats. He can tie all of these fantastic sailors’ knots.”

“See?” Finn underlined _boat_ on his List of Things to Have the Party On, below _hot air balloon_ and over _a stage_. He was having trouble noticing things, and caring about them, and stuff, so he mostly didn’t care about Blaine. But he was useful to have around to back Finn up on his Kurt and Rachel theories. Sometimes he was just making things up that sounded likely to him, but Blaine always agreed.

“Right,” Mr. Schue said cautiously, “but you know your uncle’s boat is at his house in Massachusetts. I think he meant you could use it when you visit. And… won’t Kurt want to stay at home when he gets back?”

There had been a story on the news a while ago about a girl who was kidnapped and held for a really long time like three blocks from her house, and had gone into town and even been face-to-face with a police officer who was looking for her. Maybe Kurt wouldn’t want to be around home because he already was, right now, and no one was looking hard enough.

“Finn,” Quinn snapped. “Eat your burger.”

Finn lifted it to his mouth and chewed mechanically. _He_ didn’t want Kurt to leave. Ever again. Maybe not Massachusetts, then. “Maybe no boat.”

“I think that might be best.”

“Or, do you think Andy could bring the boat here and we could put it in the back yard? Then Rachel wouldn’t even be scared.”

“…I’ll ask him,” Mr. Schue said. “Whether or not that’s feasible. Were you thinking of any other nautically themed aspects?”

Mercedes moved her fries around on her plate, making designs, occasionally eating one and replacing it in the pattern with one from the pile.

“Maybe I’d better be ready for a few different options,” Finn decided, and went to a new page on his notebook. He drew a line down the center and wrote NAUGHTICAL on one side and MUSIC on the other. He considered this, scribbled out MUSIC, and replaced it with WIZARD/WICKED.

He looked at the door. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if Kurt and Rachel walked in _right that second_. He wasn’t sure how he would explain Quinn. Rachel could be super touchy about her. But probably they would have more important things to worry about, like hugging so she couldn’t be taken away again.

“Eat,” Quinn said.

Finn took another bite.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Rachel had half-expected the house to be imaginary.

She had no idea how far they’d driven. She was pretty sure she’d woken up at least four different times, only to be soothed and drugged back into unconsciousness. Her arm hurt from the injections, and her sense of time mostly revolved around a foggy concept of light and darkness that probably had more to do with her eyes opening and closing than anything else. She wanted a warm bath and a massage, and she really wanted to eat something. She also wanted to not be hearing this.

“Come on, sweetie,” Terri cooed somewhere above her. “It’s time to wake up. We’re home!” Her voice bounced around in Rachel’s head and hurt her ears, but after a while it went away. Rachel burrowed deeper under the covers and went back to sleep.

The next time she woke up, it was because her head was pounding. There was a glass of water on the bedside table; she grabbed it and had gulped it down entirely before she processed that there _was_ a bedside table – and a real bed, a door, a carpet – that she was in a room. The house Terri kept talking about, they were actually there.

And Kurt wasn’t with her.

“Kurt?” Rachel shoved herself out of bed and promptly fell to the floor, burning her palms against the carpet. They weren’t chained anymore – she could catch herself unhindered, at least. Her ankles were still bound, though, which explained her fall. That, or the way the floor was rolling under her.

“Ooh,” she protested, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. It had stars on it. She looked sideways at the pink walls – and pink dresser – and pink blanket on the bed, adorned with yellow stars.

She turned her head and threw up on the pink carpet.

“Oh, sweetie.” Terri rushed in and helped her up. “Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up. You can take care of the carpet later; we need to get some food in you.” She patted Rachel’s back, walking her out of the bedroom and across the hall to a bathroom. The linoleum was oddly warm under Rachel’s feet, and slightly sticky – in fact, everything felt warm and sticky. The humidity was awful, and there was an awful smell lingering in the hallway.

“Why is it so hot?” Rachel asked, bending over the sink to splash water on her face.

“Give the air conditioning time to kick in, honey, we’ve only been here a few hours. We’ll be cool and dry soon. The weather here really is atrocious, but that’s why God invented climate control.” She fussed over Rachel’s face with a cloth – with both hands; wherever the gun was, it at least wasn’t pointed at her this second. “There. My pretty girl. Now come on, it’s time for dinner! Your brother and I have been waiting.”

The dining room was just down the hall, and Rachel let out a sob of relief when she saw Kurt already sitting in one of the chairs. He stood up and reached over the table to grab her hand as soon as they were close enough.

“Oh,” Terri said, pausing to smile at them. “You two.” She shook her head and pushed Rachel down into the nearest chair. ¬

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked, fingers bruising Rachel’s.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, glancing up at Terri. She didn’t seem interested in what they were saying, busily handing out plastic spoons and bowls, but she was _right there_. “I’m great, everything’s fine.” She choked a lump out of her throat – she had no idea where they were, what state, what _country_ , how long they’d been unconscious. “That was… that was some ride, huh? How long, um – if you had to guess –”

“I don’t know,” Kurt said, lips tight. He was ignoring Terri, and being way too pointed about it. She had reached to set down a spoon and he hadn’t even moved his arm, forcing her to lean over him. “My headache says a month, but I’m not on speaking terms with my head right now.”

“I know we just got here after I had to drive a trailer for _ages_ – and all by myself, I might add; Howard _claims_ that he’s nearsighted and needs to stay in Lima to work on his relationship, but I think we all know what the likelihood is that Howard Bamboo has a relationship with anyone but his local fast food restaurant.” Terri sighed, sweeping her hair back from her face. “But I also know that my kids must be starving, so against all odds, I have put a little something together for dinner.” She walked out of the room, leaving Rachel already salivating at the thought of something that required a bowl, and thus was not oranges or bananas.

Kurt let go of Rachel’s hand and grabbed his spoon, testing it against his palm. “This is useless. If you held her down for an hour I could probably remove an eye, but it’s not exactly going to win us a surprise attack.”

“Well, of course not. It’s a plastic spoon, Kurt. I accidentally broke one of those once when I was using it as a makeshift microphone in an impromptu performance at a picnic.”

“Somehow, this does not surprise me.”

“My dads thought it was adorable. They made me do it again so they could get it on camera.”

“And the only part I find puzzling is that they weren’t already recording when it happened.”

“Who wants chicken noodle soup?” Terri waltzed back in, holding a tureen in both hands and planting it on the table with an alarmingly solid _thunk_. Rachel flinched.

“Rachel’s vegan,” Kurt snapped.

“She can eat around the chicken,” Terri said, reaching over and taking Rachel’s bowl. “Did you two know they sell canned soup in cartons now? It feels so much more homemade somehow. Maybe it’s the color scheme. Beiges and browns say ‘just like mother used to make’ more convincingly than red and white, I think. It doesn’t make heating it up any less time-consuming, though.” She winked at Rachel as she filled the bowl. “Don’t think you’re off the hook in the future. I remember what an excellent cook you are, sweetie, and Mommy’s going to be very busy with guaranteeing herself the lifestyle to which she’s accustomed _and_ providing for you two. I may well have to work more than four days a week here, especially after the move and renovation.”

Kurt’s mouth was hanging open, and his eyebrows were climbing every second. Rachel grabbed his hand again, leaning over the table to reach. He didn’t stop making that expression, but at least Terri’s attention stayed on Rachel.

“Elbows off the table,” she warned. “You know better than that.”

“I’m sorry.” Rachel squeezed Kurt’s hand once and retreated.

“Dinner!” Terri held the bowl just out of Rachel’s reach. “What do we say?”

Rachel took her principles very seriously. She believed that it was wrong to eat a living, breathing, conscious thing – or to play any sort of party to its needless demise – and she believed this strongly. She also didn’t need to depend on this abstract belief very often, as her visceral reaction to turkey sandwiches or genuine leather pants was an image of the animal struggling to breathe in some horrible, packed meat farm where it was smeared with its own filth and fed ground-up bits of its neighbors. It was too disgusting to provide any temptation.

But right now, she could have summoned the will to eat her own hand, she was _that_ hungry.

“Thank you,” she said instantly, avoiding Kurt’s gaze and holding out her hands for the bowl.

Terri raised her eyebrows, looking for an instant uncannily like Kurt. “That’s not the magic word, baby.”

“You’ll have to excuse Rachel for not being psychic. Or fluent in crazy talk.”

“Kurt,” Terri said, “I have had a very long day, and I am trying to make this a pleasant experience for you here, but you are getting on my very last nerve right now and if you don’t shut your mouth I swear to the god of interior decorating I will shut it for you. Now, Rachel, to be fair, your brother does make a fair point. Are you not clear on what I’m asking you to say?”

Kurt had lapsed into silence and slumped back in his chair, notionally out of hitting range, but he still _stared_ like he expected – or no, like he wanted but didn’t really expect – Rachel to pick up where he had left off.

“No,” Rachel said. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, I had hoped you might come to this on your own,” she sighed, “but still – I think we’ve bonded enough that it’s high time. Sweetie, I’d like you to call me ‘mom.’”

Rachel’s stomach seized up, clenching inside of her like a fist. She wanted to start crying, and smiled instead, thinking inanely, _You can’t read my poker face_ , and then she remembered why it wasn’t inane.

But she was going to eat. She was going to be healthy and strong, she was going to be ready to escape, and if the police got here before she got her chance, she was going to be ready to run on her own two legs into her dads’ arms. And then they were going to sue Terri Del Monico for enough money to pay for all eight years at Julliard, between her and Kurt, _and_ the woman was going to jail until Rachel’s grandchildren graduated from college, which they would get into with the mere mention of their stunningly famous grandmother’s name.

“Thank you,” Rachel said with excellent elocution, “Mom.”

Terri gave her the bowl and put a hand to her heart. “Oh,” she said. “Now that was worth it.” Blinking rapidly, she took Kurt’s bowl in turn.

“Don’t bother,” Kurt said, very quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“If you expect me to call you that? I know you’ve had a _very_ difficult day, what with the kidnapping, transporting minors illegally across state lines and all that, so don’t put yourself out. I am not ever going to use that word in reference to you.”

“All right then.” Terri continued to spoon soup into the bowl, and still the gun made no appearance. “I understand. You’re a teenager, you feel the need to rebel and lash out, to test my limits. I had hoped that you would set a good example for your little sister, but if this is how you want to play it, Kurt, that’s okay too. You may go to your room for now, and when you’re done with this little act and ready to do the one small thing I ask of you, _then_ you may have something to eat.” She smiled. It was wide and not remotely friendly. “I can wait.”

Kurt stood up, catching the table for balance. “Fine. I hope you’re ready to have your charges raised from kidnapping to manslaughter when I starve to death.”

“There is no call to be so dramatic,” Terri said, shaking her head sadly. “We both know you’ll give out way before unconsciousness sets in. Now go, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“Kurt,” Rachel said, and tried to catch his wrist when he passed her. He avoided her hand and disappeared down the hall, Terri on his heels.

She made it until she was technically alone in the room before she started crying again. She didn’t realize it was happening until her nose started running. She dropped her face into her hands, too tired to bother trying to stop before Terri got back. She was going to have to give up this small rebellion against her stomach soon too and just eat, because even if Kurt wanted to starve himself to death, she was not going to join him.

“Pumpkin…” Rachel hadn’t heard Terri come in, and started violently, sloshing her soup. “So jumpy!” A napkin slid blurrily through Rachel’s range of vision, mopping up the spill, and then Terri sat down next to her. “How are you holding up?”

“I need,” Rachel said, gulping back the beginning of a sob, “I need some water, please.”

“Okay.” Terri patted her back and returned to the kitchen. Rachel heard a tap running. She had never in her life drunk tap water – her dads had instilled in her a healthy need for purified, organic water from Alpine streams so as to protect her health and throat from the awful chemicals involved in municipal water supplies. Once they had a week-long argument over whether or not it was feasible to install a shower system using distilled water, in order to protect her skin and hair more completely; both agreed that it would have been the ideal, but Leroy insisted it would be too expensive, and they had lessons to pay for.

But now what she had was tap water, and as with everything else, she wasn’t going to reject it.

“Here, baby.” Terri slid back into the chair beside her, handing her the glass. “Can you hold it?”

“Yes,” Rachel said, and belatedly, “thank you.” She did have to hold it with both hands to get it down, though.

“It’s no problem.” Terri paused. “This one time. We are going to have to get you doing things for yourself. I can’t be fetching and carrying all the time.” She smiled almost teasingly and stroked Rachel’s hair. “Do you need to cry some more? I know you’re probably mad at me right now, but I could hold you. It always made me feel better if Kendra held me while I cried, even if it was because she had dropped one of my Barbies out of our attic window. I lost so many perfectly good Barbies that way. Well, at least three.”

Rachel set the glass back down slowly. Empty, it was too light – plastic, nothing useful. She swallowed hard. “No,” she said. “I’d like to eat now. I’m just really hungry.”

“Sure thing!” Terri leaned in, ignoring Rachel’s flinch, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Dig in.” She reached out and took the bowl she’d been preparing for Kurt, sliding it over in front of herself. “I have to say it smells delicious. What with all the running around to take care of you kids and get this place ready, I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in weeks.”

Rachel opened her mouth, considered that technically the meal had been cooked in a home, and anyway this was not worth it, and turned all of her remaining energy toward eating her food before Terri could think of a reason to take it away.

“Don’t gobble,” Terri said mildly. “It’s not polite.”

“Sorry. It’s just… very good,” Rachel tried.

“Do you think so? I added the salt myself.”

“You’re an excellent cook.”

“Aren’t you a sweetheart? I just wish your brother could be as well-behaved as you are. I have half a mind to go in there and _make_ him behave; we were so close to having a perfect first meal together in our new house.”

“Don’t,” Rachel blurted, and then smiled. “We can have dinner without him. You know, just us girls.”

“You’re right.” Terri nodded, pointing at her as if Rachel might be unclear on whom she was addressing. “This is much nicer. I think we’ll have to build some mother/daughter bonding time into our daily routine. You know I love you both equally, but I think Kurt is going to be more emotionally taxing.” She frowned. “Maybe I should have gone with two girls… You two just seemed to get along so well.”

“We do!” Rachel could see, vividly, Kurt left to starve in his locked room while Terri drove back to Lima to pick up a replacement model – Quinn would probably have too many bad memories attached, and surely not even Terri would be crazy enough to physically attack Santana, but Tina seemed quiet and easy to manage if you didn’t know her. “You know, it’s just been a… hard week. He’s upset because he’s worried about his – about Burt.”

“I’d rather we didn’t talk about that,” Terri said pleasantly. “You need to move past those people, Rachel.” She smiled. “Fast.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Kurt’s room was green. This discomfited him a lot more than it probably should have. He liked green, in theory. It wasn’t his favorite color and he didn’t care to be framed by it constantly, but these were not reasons to feel as though the color were actively invasive. Yet he did feel that way, and it was _everywhere he looked_.

Because of this – the forest walls, the mint accents, and the dark gray dresser – and because of the pounding in his head, it took him a few minutes to realize that there was a window.

It was the first window he’d seen so far, since he’d been completely out of it when Terri had woken him up and dragged him into the dining room, and there were none in either the hallway or the dining room itself. Sucking in a deep breath, he staggered to his feet from his spot by the door, using the doorknob for leverage. Crossing the room to his dresser made him feel nauseous, but he made it and leaned over to touch the glass beyond it.

It stuck to his palm, which was sweating. Behind it loomed bars – actual bars, the kind people installed in dangerous neighborhoods to ward off robbery – and beyond them was very compelling evidence that these bars were not in fact designed to keep anyone out, since there was no one _to_ keep out. They were in the middle of nowhere.

There was a swamp outside his window. Beyond a small, midge-filled, overgrown lawn the trees started, water pooling around their knotted roots. And that was it. No matter how hard he looked, and no matter how far to either side he twisted himself, there were only more trees, on into the distance. They got larger and dropped more branches toward the ground as they retreated from the house; he could see no sign of them thinning out toward another yard. The water grew darker and looked threateningly deep as the distance increased.

Kurt retreated to the bed, tripping once over the chain locked between his ankles, and sat down to breathe for a few seconds. No normal house had so few windows; there should have been some in the dining room. If she’d gotten rid of them, there was something to hide – they weren’t really stranded on a tropical island the authorities would never even think to search, might not even know existed –

He looked around for anything to break the window with – it might not do him any good this second, but in the future, he could definitely see a big slice of glass being a nice thing to have on him, and who knew, maybe those bars weren’t secure. The only things in the room, however, were the bed and the dresser. There weren’t even any drawers in the dresser; it had been made over into almost a shelf, with a spare few t-shirts and sweatshirts folded and stacked in the spaces where drawers ought to have been. They did not look up to his (admittedly exacting) standards.

He looked at the pillow and blankets dubiously. He could probably make a protective glove for his hand and just punch the window out. Maybe that would even be quieter. Puck would probably know about this kind of thing. Or, given the Volvo incident, possibly not.

Realizing that he was so far gone he missed Noah Puckerman was a low moment.

“Kurt?”

He flinched, but it was Rachel’s voice, soft, just beyond his door. Wiping his face dry quickly, he said, “Yes? I’d invite you in, but under the circumstances you’ll have to excuse my manners.”

“I’m going to tell Terri that you’re sorry, and you’re ready to say what she wants to hear,” she said.

“Excuse me? No, you’re not, because when she realizes you’re lying, she’s going to start smacking us again, and I bruise very easily.”

“Come over by the door. Please,” Rachel directed.

Kurt heaved an ostentatious sigh, but did, even making a cursory attempt to see through the keyhole. This was unsuccessful. “Where is she?”

“She’s in the kitchen. She said I could come talk to you.” Rachel was whispering now, but if he bent slightly and put his ear to the crack of the door she was perfectly audible. “Are you okay?”

“I read somewhere humans can go two weeks without food, so I haven’t keeled over quite yet, believe it or not.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I just – I want to go home. I need to get home. My dad…”

“I know your dad needs you, Kurt,” Rachel hissed. “Right now, _I_ need you. And I’m so sorry about this, I realize it’s completely different for you – I never had a childhood with my mother, and I don’t have a new mother figure in my life right now. This is a big deal for you and it must feel like a betrayal on so many levels.” She took a shaky breath, voice wavering as she continued, “And _I need_ for you to man up and just call her mom if that’s what she wants, because you _promised_ we would do whatever it takes to get out of this. You promised me.”

Kurt’s fingers clenched around his arms, nails scraping along his skin before digging in. “No. You’re right about this being different for me, and I can’t call her that. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me – did she put you up to this? Why are you asking me to do something like that?”

“You _have_ to. It wasn’t fun for me either, you know! But neither of us can afford to stand on principle, or even feeling. Not right now.”

Kurt scoffed, and it caught in his throat like a sob. “This is hardly the _Clash of the Titans_. I’m not going to use that word in reference to Terri Schuester, of all people; she’ll give up and feed me eventually so that I don’t die. I promise I’ll have plenty of will left over for other battles of it.”

“Kurt Hummel, you stop being such a stupid, stubborn boy this second or I will tell Blaine about the Incident of the Sad Clown Hooker the very next time I see him!”

“You wouldn’t,” he protested automatically, distracted by the prospect of how difficult that would be to explain to his wide-eyed “I’ve never met anyone as kind as you, Kurt” innocent of a boyfriend.

Rachel’s voice dropped. “We’re not in a battle, or a clash, or anything like that here,” she said fiercely. “We’ve _lost_ , okay? There’s no more fighting. We have to make her happy so that we survive until we can sneak away or until someone finds us. I need you with me, with as much mobility as possible, as strong as possible. Do you have any idea how – how useless you are right now, starving alone in some room? How much use are you ever going to be, if every day you’re fighting over some little thing with someone who could just shoot you and dump your body if she gets tired of it?”

“That’s not fair.” Kurt could feel himself flushing, which was unattractive and, his dad always said, a sign that he was arguing for something he didn’t even believe was true, generally just for the sake of it. This usually just made Kurt argue more. “I’m not going to sit around twiddling my thumbs and playing the victim because a woman who weighs one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet snuck up on us! We outnumber her, and if we refuse to play along –”

“What? We’ll wear her down and she’ll start over with – with Mercedes or Artie, or – Kurt, the only thing you’re going to accomplish is getting someone hurt, probably you, and I _need_ you with me. _Please_.”

He leaned into the door, letting his head fall against it. “I can’t. You’re right, and it physically pains me to say that, but I can’t… call her that.”

“But if you don’t, I’ll also tell Blaine _why_ you dressed me up like a sad clown hooker.” She tapped on the other side of the door again, gently, four times, then slid her fingers along it. “Your mom would want you to live through this.”

“So your entire plan is for us to lie back, think of England, and hope that she leaves the door unlocked.”

“Yours is to get locked in one room, probably starving and hurt, instead of at least having a house to rifle through when she goes to work. My plan wins.”

“She did say she was going to be working, didn’t she,” he conceded.

“Yes! She’s going to be leaving us alone eventually, and if she’s happy, she might leave us somewhere other than locked in separate rooms. It’s just a word, Kurt.”

He nodded. It wasn’t, not to him. “You’re right,” he said again.

“So? I’m going to tell her you’re ready to apologize and to tell her what she wants to hear,” Rachel repeated, and Kurt thought that at least there was this constant in his life: arguments with Rachel Berry ended exactly where they had begun, which was with Rachel telling you what to do.

“Okay.”

He could hear her on the other side – breathing, and then taking a deeper breath as if she were about to say something. Instead she tapped the wood again and then she was gone; for a few seconds he could hear the clink of her restrained steps, but even that disappeared quickly.

He backed into the middle of the room, trying to breathe evenly. _It’s just a word._ He thought about the summer when, during her crafting phase, his mom had spent hours with a book teaching herself to make lanyards and car ornaments from popsicle sticks so that she could teach him, because no son of hers was going to sit in front of a TV screen all day. And the summer they had spent in front of a TV screen because she wanted him to see all of the classic movies while he was young. Carole calling him her friend, and kissing him goodnight.

The door’s lock clicked and it swung back. Terri smiled. “Kurt, is this true? You’re over your snit already? I have to say, I was prepared to wait longer than this. I’m so glad you’re not one of those _really_ stubborn teenagers. I just don’t know what I’d do.”

“Rachel makes a compelling case,” Kurt said. _So does the gun, wherever it is._ If he could get his hands on it…

“So?” Terri spread her arms. “Come give me a hug and apologize, sweetie.”

Kurt did his best not to visibly retch, and took the small, dragging steps he could manage forward into her embrace. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Mom.”

Her arms tightened around his shoulders until they hurt. She felt soft and tall, and smelled like spices, in a way that made his chest ache and hurt his throat as if he were about to cry. “Thank you,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “It’ll get easier every time, I promise.” She stepped back and pinched his cheek, which was at least appalling enough to distract him. “Now, let’s rustle you up some lunch.”

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Terri was delighted that Kurt had come around so quickly, not just because she didn’t want to have to deal with any more sulky teenage shenanigans than strictly necessary, but because they had such a lot to get done. It was vital to get the kids started on their new routine as quickly as possible. They needed to feel secure and know that she was in control, and letting them laze around brewing discontent would not achieve anything.

Personally, she was looking forward to crafting with them more than anything else, but she supposed she ought to start with something a little more serious.

“What in the world…?” Kurt, seated next to Rachel on the couch, stared at the still-quivering coffee table.

Terri worked the kinks out of her wrists; the horrid book was made up of a set of six formidable volumes. “You said you wanted books, I got you books. _Educational_ ones. I’m not going to let your minds stagnate just because you’re not in school at the moment; I have a fulfilling and challenging curriculum planned.”

“Is this…” Kurt turned a few volumes over. “Is this –”

“Marcel Proust’s _À la recherché du temps perdu_ , unabridged, in the original French,” Terri said firmly. “I wasn’t in that school long, but I did pick up on a few things, namely that some of you felt you were too good for the academics on offer.” She beamed. “And I agree entirely. I think you’ll find that homeschooling suits all of our unique needs much better.”

“I’m certain that’s true,” Kurt said. Rachel, inexplicably, frowned at him. Who knew with kids?

“We’ll start right away,” Terri continued. “I want you to know I take your education seriously.”

“Thus the whiteboard.” Kurt nodded. “And the glasses. I was wondering, as I was under the impression that your eyesight is fine.”

“Oh, these don’t even have glass in them.” Terri tapped the frames. “I wanted to look the part. I think it makes everything seem more official. I don’t want you two thinking you can get away with anything just because you’re in your own home.”

“I definitely don’t think that,” Kurt said. “Any of it.”

Rachel kicked his ankle.

“We really need nail clippers, in addition to razors,” Kurt commented. “I think you just gashed my leg, Rachel.”

Terri glared over the top of her glasses. It was a satisfying feeling; she should have gotten these years ago. “Pay attention.”

Kurt mimed locking his mouth and tossing the key. Rachel settled in and looked alert.

“Now, I have assignments for both of you to keep you busy while I’m at work. Kurt, I want you to read this monstrosity,” Terri tapped the paperbacks on the table with one of her dry erase markers, “and write a short summary of each chapter. As well as a formal essay on each volume, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there in seven hundred pages.”

“Okay.” He had the decency to appear intimidated, even if he was looking at the book instead of at her.

“Rachel, I don’t have anything to give you per se, because I can leave a paperback book here – one at a time, Kurt – but I don’t plan to leave anything as solid and dangerous as a TV or a laptop lying around with you two still so new to this. I’m going to rely on your memory. I want you to start out with an twenty-page essay on the relative success of created families in _The Sound of Music_ , _Mary Poppins_ , _The King and I_ , and more recent plays like _The Kid_ or _They Chose Me_. Start brainstorming and try to remember what you think up, because I’m not leaving pens or pencils here until you’re both more settled.” She clapped her hands together. “Do you both understand your assignments?”

“I know all of those plays by heart,” Rachel said, flipping her hair. It was a few days overdue for a good shampooing, limp and uncooperative, and the gesture was much less impressive than Terri was sure it would have been otherwise.

“I thought you might. My smart girl.” Terri patted her shoulder. “Now that _that’s_ out of the way, it’s time for your first history lesson! I will be delivering a series of lectures based on what I remember from high school and the period costume dramas I sometimes watch when there’s nothing else on.” She paused, allowing them to take this in. “Let’s start with the Ottoman Empire.”

Kurt raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“Is there going to be a test? I’d like to take notes.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. I’m a very busy woman. I’m not going to design and grade tests. I trust you to do your best to remember everything in the interests of bettering yourselves as people.”

Kurt subsided with an inexplicably cross look; honestly, you’d think they’d be glad that they didn’t have to take tests. But then, she did have a very special pair on her hands; it wasn’t as if they were like other teens.

“The Ottoman Empire was essentially the biggest, baddest empire in town, and it didn’t dissolve until the twenties, can you believe that? I always thought Turks were extinct before then. It’s amazing what PBS will teach you. They took over just about everywhere, and brought all kinds of scientific advancements and clean habits. Now, one of the ways the empire made sure that everyone behaved was to take the kids of their tributaries and let them stay as guests in the royal palace. Doesn’t that sound nice?” She paused for affirmation.

“Very nice,” Kurt said, eyebrows high in what was surely an expression of deep sincerity.

“Lovely,” Rachel said, nodding fervently.

“Well, once upon a time, they took two young princes to stay with them in their shining castle, even though the princes were from a nasty, dank place called Wallachia. _One_ of the princes adapted completely to the empire’s more advanced and hygienic ways and stayed with them for the rest of his life, except for a while when he ruled Wallachia. He even had a passionate romance with the prince of all the Ottoman Empire, the scamp!”

Kurt’s and Rachel’s expressions softened identically, as Terri had guessed they would. Raised on Disney, the dears. Now, though, was time to drive home the harder part of the lesson.

“His older brother,” she continued, “did not see the light of civilization, and spent a lot of his life in prison once he got back to Wallachia and started betraying people too often. He was miserable and hateful and left a trail of maimed, brutalized corpses behind him all his life. And _he_ was Vlad the Impaler, also known,” she paused, eyeing them, “as Dracula.”

“Oh,” Rachel said at length.

“Just you think about that.” Terri patted her knee.

“Oh, we will,” Kurt promised. “And might I just add, you are stunning in glasses. See, Rachel, _this_ is how librarian chic is done.”

Rachel gasped. “Well, _she’s_ not doing sexy schoolgirl at the same time!”

“No, she’s not. Most people don’t.”

“My look is _unique_ –”

“For good reason.”

“All right, you two.” Terri tried not to smile during her remonstration, but they were too cute – too perfectly _siblings._ “That’s enough. Thank you, Kurt, for the compliment, but please leave your sister’s fashion choices out of it.”

“Fine,” Kurt said.

“Thank you.” She beamed at him and squeezed his shoulder. “Now I’m going to read you an inspirational quote from _I’m a Winner and You’re Fat_ , by Sue Sylvester, to give you food for thought this evening.” She pulled out today’s index card; she had a whole stack of them in her bedroom, waiting to enrich these precious young minds. She cleared her throat for the officialness of it and read, “‘SueTip 48: Taking lemons and making lemonade is for suckers. When life gives Sue Sylvester lemons, she crushes them with her bare hands and smears the juice into the paper cuts of her enemies. Then she has a refreshing glass of protein shake, because the sugar in lemonade is for fatties.’ I think it’s one of her most motivating quotes,” Terri sighed.

Kurt closed his eyes and massaged his temples, certainly in thought. Rachel stared wide-eyed and slightly slack-jawed, then brightened and said, “That does sound like Coach Sylvester!”

“Mm-hm,” Kurt agreed, lips tight.

“Well, you think about what an important role she’s played in your lives, and how richly deserving of your respect she is, and give her words the consideration they deserve.” Terri looked fondly down at them, then removed her glasses. “All right, I’m going to put these things away. Kurt, why don’t you take your book and go to your room; Rachel, you may go to your room as well and wait for me to come in with the carpet cleaner. I believe you have a mess to tidy up!”

“Oh,” Rachel said, shoulders slumping.

“What?” Kurt asked, taking his sweet time about collecting the first volume of the horrible collection. Terri scooped the others up and took the whiteboard in hand. She really had to remember to make helpful diagrams next time.

“I was sick earlier,” Rachel began to explain; Terri left them to it, escaping to her room and locking the door behind her. She’d have to be very careful neither of them ever slipped in here with her; it was a bastion of everything impossible to child-proof but necessary to have one hand – cleaning chemicals, makeup, knives, a phone, a toolset, the paintings she hoped to hang on the wall once she could be sure neither of her darlings would tear it off and use it as a blunt instrument, her sewing and crafting supplies…

She set Kurt’s books back in their place on her dresser, between a Tupperware container of knives and a basket full of scissors, needles, a glue gun, and a tool for cutting perfect circles during scrapbooking.

She hesitated, looking up into the mirror above the dresser. The room reflected behind her looked more like a garage sale than a bedroom. She was hundreds of miles from home, and all alone with –

But she wasn’t alone. She had her kids, and soon she would have Will, too. The house might still be bare, and her room was a disaster area, but she would figure things out. When Will got here, everything would be perfect. She _was_ home.

Terri brushed her hair into place and unearthed a bucket and a bottle of Pine Sol for Rachel. She had work to do.

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Rachel woke the next morning to a sharp knock on her door, which was already open. “Up, up, up!” Terri chirped, smiling in at her. “Mommy has to go to work today in order to go over the ropes with the old regional manager, so I need you on your best behavior.” She disappeared and Rachel could hear Kurt getting the same treatment.

By the time they had both shuffled into the hallway, Terri had unlocked the kitchen as well. “One of you hop in the shower,” she called, “and I want the other one in here helping me make breakfast.”

Kurt grabbed Rachel’s hand. “See if there’s anything we can use out here, or any kind of feasible exit,” he breathed, close to her ear. “I’ll case the kitchen. She can’t have child-proofed the entire place, and if there’s something sharp, that’s where it is.”

 _Whatever it takes._ Rachel nodded. “Be careful.”

“You too.” His fingers tightened on hers before he headed toward the kitchen.

Rachel was careful. She turned on the shower, leaving the bathroom door cracked open, and walked on tiptoe, which was at least a good calf exercise, if not a good habit to get into for her Achilles’ tendon. Of course she also had to waddle, keeping her chain stretched tight enough not to clink, and the whole thing felt ridiculous.

All of the bedrooms had padlocks attached – _securely_ attached, she found when she tugged on hers and even tried hanging all of her weight on it. Only the room that had to be Terri’s was locked at the moment, no doubt on a haven of everything they needed – keys, a phone, sharp things, heavy things, normal clothing… the gun.

The bathroom was useless, stripped of anything heavy or potentially sharp or even abrasive. At the end of the hallway, outside Terri’s room, a trapdoor in the ceiling led to the attic – she assumed – and might be their best hope, but she couldn’t reach the truncated string to pull the door open.

Finally, there was the front room. The dining room’s only offering was the chance that they could swing a chair at Terri’s head, but the front room had a window. A big front-and-center window, like in a normal house. And still there were bars over it – but at least she could see outside.

Her first thought was to find a neighbor, but all she could see was a dirt driveway, winding into a marshy stretch of land with no other breaks, swarming with midges in the morning sun.

 _But she has to get to work,_ Rachel told herself. _We’re within commuting distance of a Sheets-N-Things, and that means a city, outskirts, towns…_

She crept hurriedly back to the bathroom and tore her shirt off, just managing to get her hair thoroughly wet before Terri poked her head in and said, “Breakfast is ready! Come on out, baby, I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Okay,” Rachel said. The water blasted down, drowning out the quiver in her voice.

As she climbed out, Kurt rushed into the room, holding a shirt out to her.

“Kurt,” she yelped, reaching for a towel.

“Never mind, let’s not pretend I haven’t seen it,” Kurt hissed, handing her the shirt and the towel both. “Hurry for breakfast before she gets impatient, but Rachel –” he bent toward her, Terri already calling for them from the dining room, “I have a plan.”

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Kurt had entered the kitchen and, at first, been crushed. The room was incredibly sparse, with a stove, counter, microwave, and a single shelf covered in plastic and paper dishware. A table was heaped with cartons of prepared food and a smallish refrigerator hummed in the corner. The window was open but barred and screened, looking out on the same green-gray swamp he saw from his own room. No heavy pans stood out, no knife drawer, no glass measuring cups for the smashing, no back door.

Terri sat in the single available chair, filing her nails on a soft, rounded file, nothing capable of damage. “Good morning, baby,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Good morning,” he said, and she raised an eyebrow, her smile turning frigid. “Mom,” he said, tongue heavy and clumsy.

She nodded and stood, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She smelled like vanilla. “Would you put some oatmeal on? I need to paint my nails.” She fluttered her fingers. “First day on the new job.”

“…Sure,” Kurt conceded. He bloated when he ate oats, but under the circumstances he supposed he had more pressing concerns. “Where is the oatmeal? And I’ll need a pot, and a carton of milk…” He approached the stove, trying to remember the portion of milk per cup of oatmeal – he’d long since graduated to Florentine quiche or perhaps a nice crepe for something lighter, and recalling the baby steps to Breakfast for Beginners was something of an effort.

“Oh, no, pumpkin – right here.” Terri pointed at some packets of pre-processed, sugary Quaker Oats product, color-coded for flavor.

“Really?” Kurt picked up a bag of sugar packets, the kind restaurants put out on tables. “I can make real food, you know. I don’t mind. I’m very good.”

“I have _two_ little chefs?” Terri beamed. “That’s wonderful! I’ll pick up some spaghetti and sauce fixings on the way home and you can make dinner, how does that sound?”

“Child’s play,” Kurt scoffed.

“Ooh, I see. I’ll surprise you with a fancy sauce order, then.” She tapped a packet of oatmeal mix. “Simple and fast for now, though.”

“All right,” Kurt sighed, retrieving three paper bowls and checking the packages for microwave time. Radiation _would_ be the first thing he experienced this morning.

“I am a working woman,” Terri said.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Kurt flashed his most charming smile as he wrenched a bag open.

“Now, Kurt.” Terri smoothed a soft peach shade over the nails on her left hand. “You’ve been such an angel since you came around, and I want to reward you – and Rachel. Positive reinforcement is just as important as negative. I think, if you can maintain your positive attitude, you can both look forward to some better clothes soon.”

Kurt looked over at her, throat closing on his own humiliating hope – not having to contend with both ankle restrains _and_ the constant threat of exposing himself every time he took a step seemed next to heaven at the moment.

Terri smiled, all sympathy and understanding. “I can’t give you pants, because they wouldn’t work with the ankle restraints and you’re a long way from earning your way out of those, mister. But a little birdie told me that you do wear skirts sometimes.”

“I, ah…” Kurt ran a roughly correct amount of tap water over the oatmeal; they were going to die of food poisoning anyway, so he saw no need to go looking for bottled or filtered. “I do… sometimes. Not very often.”

“No, I understand. I’m sure you prefer to have your options open and that you only wear men’s skirts, and those… boy concerns.” Terri waved a hand as if she could dismiss all “boy concerns” by shooing them away. “But since things are… the way they are… I know this is hard for you to adjust to, but I am going to take care of you, baby, I promise. You’re not going to get hurt, and I’ll do my best to make you comfortable. But you have to meet me halfway. Could you compromise for me, sweetie?”

“Sure thing.” Kurt set the timer on the microwave and smiled. It felt stilted, too wide and thin, but Terri looked touched.

“My good boy,” she said. “I’ll start on yours tonight while you make dinner, all right?”

Kurt’s heart sped up. He took a breath to speak, but changed his mind – asking her would only tip her off. But if she was going to be sewing during the food preparation… “I didn’t know you could make clothes,” he said.

She winked at him. “I’m really quite crafty.”

If she was going to sew the whole time, he’d have access to a pot of boiling water.

The microwave dinged, and he managed to fit in both other bowls in one go.

At the table, Terri sighed when she smeared her nail polish, trying now to paint her right hand with her left.

“Let me help,” Kurt said, taking a step toward her.

“Do you know how?” She looked more dubious than he felt was strictly necessary.

“I’ve been painting Mercedes’ nails for years,” he said, trying not to sound defensive.

“Well, thank you.” She held her hand out and gave him the polish.

He slipped his hand under hers. _I could swipe her eyes with this_ , he thought, fingering the bottle. _It would have to sting._ He smoothed the paint across her thumbnail. _Blind her, for just a while. The keys are on her, she just opened all these locks. Maybe not the key to the front door, but that would be in her room._

“What are you thinking?” She tapped his temple with a careful finger.

“You have beautiful skin,” he said, which was true. She plainly moisturized. He turned the brush on its side, edging carefully along the border of her nail. He hadn’t learned this with Mercedes. He’d learned it with his mother.

“I try to take care of myself,” she preened. “Despite my hectic schedule and the appalling amount of stress in my life.”

“I try to tell,” Kurt said, and choked. “I try to tell Rachel,” he amended. “How important it is to make time for your skin.” He tried to tell Carole, really. She seemed to think that facials were something for special occasions only, and while she plainly had very good genes and luck, they might not last her forever. A woman her age had to think about her pores.

“We’ll take care of her,” Terri said.

 _“I am going to take care of you… You’re not going to get hurt…”_ This could work. It could.

“We will,” he agreed. He wasn’t going to be able to go for her eyes. Not like this. Too much could go wrong. All she had to do was flinch. He didn’t know for sure whether or not she had the gun hidden under her blouse. But it was fine. It could wait for tonight.

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After breakfast, Terri locked Kurt in his room. Rachel she left with free rein, comparatively speaking. “I want you to tidy up, sweetheart,” she said, smoothing Rachel’s hair. “There’s a vacuum in the hallway, and a duster, and the bucket from yesterday and a sponge in the bathroom – don’t tire yourself out, but keep it looking nice, okay?”

“I promise.”

“I won’t be back until six, so dinner will be late, but you have lunch…” Terri looked around the room, hands on her hips. “All right! I’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye –” Rachel stepped forward when Terri unlocked the door.

“Rachel,” she said, voice hard, eyes bright on Rachel’s face.

“Bye,” Rachel said, and waved with a smile.

And then she was alone with the vacuum and lunch, which consisted of a bottle of water, two bananas, and a pack of beef jerky. She heard Terri’s car pull out, the engine fading slowly into the distance, and then silence seeped in. She stood for a moment, air pressing in around her. A chill draft prickled around her legs, the moist heat from the momentarily-open door sticking to her face. The air conditioner hummed. She thought she could hear insects singing, unless it was just a ringing buzz in her ears. She took a breath and it was the loudest sound in the room.

“Kurt,” she said, running for his door. “Kurt, answer me, Kurt!”

“Rachel,” he said, too late, after she’d already seen her own future – Kurt dead in his room, Terri in a car crash, and Rachel all alone and going slowly crazy as she starved to death and left an emaciated, unattractive corpse for the crime scene photographers.

She gasped for air, but managed to sound comparatively normal when she said, “We’re alone.”

“Thank god. Can you get into the attic?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll drag a chair down and see. What if she can tell I’ve been up there?”

“I don’t know. What if we actually have to go through with my plan?”

“Oh.” She nodded at the door, which did nothing helpful in return. “I wish you were out here with me. “

“I do too.”

“I’m going to try the attic now.”

“Be careful.”

Once again, Rachel was careful, and once again, it didn’t matter – not because she got caught, but because there was nothing helpful to find.

She dragged a chair from the dining room down the hall, grateful for the carpet she’d be vacuuming over anyway – there would be no lifting these monsters. Even dragging one, she had to stop once to rest, and the legs left deep groves on the carpet. Dragging it on wood would have been out of the question, and swinging one at Terri’s head was probably out.

She got it under the trapdoor and balanced with one hand on the wall to pull the string, calling intermittent progress reports to Kurt. The string worked; standing on a chair in the direct path of the descending ladder did not. Rachel fell flat on her back (although it felt more like something huge and angry had smacked the back of her ribcage in a concerted attempt to get at her lungs). The ladder creaked, dangling halfway open above her as she gaped at the ceiling and tried to breathe.

“Rachel? Rachel!”

“I’m fine,” she gasped as soon as she could make a sound. “I just – had the wind knocked out of me – oh my goodness.” She scooted to the wall, feeling gingerly for breaks. Her limbs proved to be intact, thank God; an improperly set leg could ruin her dancing. “The stairs knocked me over,” she added, so as not to leave Kurt in the dark.

“Are sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Maybe we should wait until she leaves us both out before we try this.”

Rachel started crying, taking herself by surprise. “I can do it,” she said, wiping her cheeks and clambering to her feet. It felt like she’d been waiting ever since they were taken to hear Kurt that cared, not just that they got away, but that they were intact when that happened.

She shoved the chair out of the way and pulled the stairs down; they were rickety and stank of must. There were spiders clinging to them in a few places.

Every step brought her farther into the baking heat and a truly appalling smell. “Kurt?” she called down, “I think something died up here!” Which didn’t bode well for the possibility of finding an exit. But there was no answer, at least not one she could hear. She mounted the last step.

The attic was a glorified crawl space, barely seven feet long and five wide. It was dark, with only one small, round window set into an alcove. Rachel rushed to it, kneeling for the last foot as the roof descended, but it had bars as secure as the others.

Sighing, already sweating in the heat, she turned to the rest of the room. It was bare and dirty, nothing like the rest of the new-looking house. The walls sagged, insulation dribbling through the paper tacked between boards. The smell was awful.

There were only two boxes, one cardboard and one large Tupperware unit. Avoiding the walls with their attendant animal inhabitants, Rachel tried the cardboard box, holding her breath for fear of rats, ready to retreat at the slightest sign of movement.

The papers inside were in disarray, a mess of photographs, post-it notes, timetables, and pages printed from the web. Rachel was critiquing the angle of a photo which had caught her on her bad side before she realized that it was all about her and Kurt. Addresses, schedules, routes they preferred, Google Earth pictures of their houses, descriptions of the courses they were taking this summer, and candid pictures were littered over each other. So much trash now, Rachel supposed – now that Terri had what she wanted. Her throat closed looking at it all, how long they’d been watched, how easily.

She shoved the first layer of papers aside and found someone else. A handful of photos, a few handwritten notes about how often this girl was alone at Kendra’s work. Judging from the photos, she worked in some kind of high-end thrift store. The photographs were of a pretty girl with auburn hair and a striking nose, face expressionless in every one. She looked only vaguely familiar.

Rachel shook her head, closing the box, and moved to the Tupperware, prying back the lid hurriedly, hoping for some kitchenware – something sharp.

Coughing at the intensification of the odor, she looked inside. She frowned. Head tilting, she stared. Then, very slowly, she turned white and replaced the lid. Much more quickly, she turned and ran, stumbling on the ladder, scratching her leg against it. She shoved the hatch closed, sobbing for breath when she had to pull the chair over to force it home.

She sat on the chair for a while before she realized Kurt was calling out to her.

“Nothing,” she said. “Kurt? There’s nothing up there – no way out. There’s nothing we can use.”

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By the time Terri got home and let Kurt out, he was dancing in place out of desperation to use the bathroom, and this urgent need was the only thing standing between him and death by isolation. The boredom hadn’t been as intense, with Proust to occupy him, but Kurt had never in his life spent a day locked away from everyone so completely; even in his most miserable pre-teen days he had been able to have vituperative discussions on YouTube about which version of _Jesus Christ Superstar_ was better. Rachel had been with him today, of course, but once she got down from the attic the most he heard from her was the vacuum outside his door. She had taken her chores very seriously; everything shone, there was no dust to be seen, and the lines cut into the carpet by the vacuum looked drawn with a ruler.

He washed his hands and took several gulps of tap water before heading to the kitchen, where Terri had dumped her purchases and Rachel was silently sorting through the tomatoes. “Hi, baby,” Terri cooed, rushing over to kiss his cheek. “How was your day?”

“Long, lonely, and minimally less dull,” he said, but smiled, as she seemed to like that.

“Silly boy. I hope you made enough progress in Proust to justify complaining,” she said, sing-song. “Now, make yourself at home with the stove, because you’re making us girls pasta with shrimp Mornay.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow, wondering if he should hold out to get his hands on the cheese grater. More than that, he was fighting to keep himself from acknowledging that seafood Mornay was his favorite guilty pleasure pasta sauce. _She knew_ , he told himself. _She found out somehow. She’s doing it on purpose._ He hadn’t discussed his love for the stuff with anyone in years, since his dad would respond by asking for it all the time in order to prey on his weakness and frankly, no one else cared but Mercedes – and food was a bit of a touchy subject between the two of them. Still – she could have found out somehow. “Well played,” he managed finally. “I’ll do my best to rise to the occasion.”

“There’s my boy.” Terri patted his shoulder and turned back to the table. “Rachel, would you help with sewing, baby?”

“But I don’t know how,” Rachel blurted, eyes wide and glistening, face white. Her mouth hung slightly open as if she were in shock.

“Hey, hey!” Terri pulled her into a hug, smoothing her hair. “Calm down! Stress ages you, and crying will make you all puffy. My pretty girl.”

Kurt stepped back; maybe this was some kind of distraction technique, but if so, it was coming at a very inopportune time. “I’ll just get started on the sauce, if I may,” he murmured, sidling toward the table and commandeering the grocery bag.

“You do that.” Terri nodded over Rachel’s head with a long-suffering expression. “I’m going to take your sister and calm her down. You’ll have to use the plastic knives, sweetie.” She gathered up a few plastic bags and a silent, shivering Rachel and guided her out of the kitchen.

Kurt waited until they were out of sight before he began a more serious investigation of the kitchen. It yielded nothing, no secret drawers of cast-iron skillets, no heavy-duty rolling pins. The most damage he could do here was give himself a paper cut, and even that would require serious effort, since the “paper” in question was the cheap cardboard used in cracker and Asian meal boxes. It looked like he was sticking to the plan, then. He turned back to the sauce, mouth dry and palms damp.

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“I’ve always wanted to learn how to sew,” Rachel said, watching as Terri shook out the powder blue cloth marked with a series of what looked like abstract shapes drawn with chalk. “To make things.”

“You mean you don’t _know_ how?” Terri dropped the cloth.

Rachel shook her head slowly.

“Baby, that’s awful! Sewing is the most elementary and vital skill for a person to have! Most people say cooking, but I say you can always find someone else to do that for you.” She smiled to show she was joking, then dropped it to show she also wasn’t. “But sewing you can never really trust to anyone else, not once you get the hang of it. Only you know exactly how you want things to be, and only you can make them that way.” She winked. “That’s sort of my philosophy.”

“It sounds a lot like mine,” Rachel said, and abruptly sat down on the floor, curling her knees up until she could press her face into them.

“Hey, hey.” Terri followed her down and wrapped an arm around her. “Sweetie, you have to tell me what’s wrong or I can’t help.”

“Can you just hold me for a minute?” Rachel asked, voice thick.

“Of course, baby, anything.” Terri pulled her closer, and then scooped her onto her lap – it was a little harder than she’d expected, but Rachel was a small girl. She seemed to weigh nearly nothing once she was there, face against Terri’s shoulder, warm and solid. The shape and warmth of her went straight to Terri’s heart. This was exactly it, why she’d become a mother, the trust and sweetness of this. “There, there,” she said, petting Rachel’s hair. She couldn’t help smiling. “Once you’ve cried yourself out, we’ll start putting some patterns together, okay? And then I’ll show you how to use the sewing machine. You’ll catch on in no time.”

“Okay,” Rachel sniffled.

“There’s my girl.” Terri rested her cheek on top of Rachel’s head and inhaled the scent of her. “My good girl.”

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For a while Kurt lost himself in the rhythm of cooking – choosing, cleaning, arranging. His routines were twisted by the lack of options and accoutrements, steps thrown off because he couldn’t start anything simmering, but there was enough familiarity to the act to calm him.

When Terri and Rachel returned, it was bearing gifts – two light-weight pots, armfuls of cloth, and another light lawn chair for the table. The cloth had, he realized when they set it down, been cut according to a pattern. “You had access to _scissors_?” he hissed when Rachel handed him one of the pots, but she shook her head and refused to meet his eyes.

“You go right ahead with dinner, sweetie,” Terri said just then, pulling Rachel away. “We’ll be working on some decent clothes for you two, won’t we, baby?” She hugged Rachel again, settling her at the table with a package of butterfly clips in lieu of pins; she had a needle and thread for herself, as well.

“You’re not – you’re doing it by hand?” Kurt said. A sewing machine would have been nice to get his hands on. He could definitely throw one, unless it was attached to the table like his mother’s old Singer.

“We’ll just give it a run-through and see how it goes, what we need to let out, take in.” Terri smiled, gesturing to the bags on the counter.

“All right,” Kurt said in his very best “your funeral” tone, and obediently pulled out the box of spaghetti before turning to the sink with the first pot. He could see why she’d chosen these; they were too light to be much danger on their own, but big enough to render them unwieldy once they were full. Terri would see him coming long before he could do her any kind of harm. Well, that was fine. He didn’t need to get far.

He watched the pot. Contrary to popular opinion, it did boil.

“How did your first day at work go?” he asked, staring fixedly at the bubbles fired at the surface of the water to explode, one after another, then closer together, until the surface roiled with them. He took hold of the handle of the pot, registering the too-warm pressure of it only faintly.

“Oh, you would not believe this woman,” Terri said. “It’s no wonder they need me to replace her. She showed me how she’s been organizing the hand towel aisle, and I have to say, I don’t think she’s entirely well.” She nodded significantly, tapping her head. “Up here.”

“Why,” Kurt said, turning to face her, still grasping the handle, “how did she –” and the pot overbalanced.

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Rachel realized as it was happening that Kurt was going through with it, with his stupid _plan_ , and sat dumbfounded. How could he still think that this would work, after the attic?

And then she remembered that he didn’t know, and still she sat there, silent.

The boiling water broke over Kurt’s hand in a wave, then crashed to the floor as the pot swung ponderously to its side. Kurt stood still as if shocked, eyes closed, and the water hit his right leg and foot before spreading over the floor, cooling rapidly.

Terri screamed, and only then did Kurt make a horrible choked sound and collapse, clutching his arm to his chest, leg splayed awkwardly to avoid contact between the floor and his skin. She couldn’t see his hand, but the skin of his leg flushed an angry red. “Oh my god,” he said, “oh my god, oh my god,” and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Terri caught his shoulders before his head could smack against the floor, and pinched his good arm, trying awkwardly to keep his limp form from collapsing entirely. “Kurt, sweetie, sweetie, wake up,” she said, and he did.

He let out an agonized moan the second he did, eyelids fluttering. “It hurts,” he gasped, “no, it really – it really hurts, please –”

“I know, baby, I’m so sorry!” Terri looked frantically at Rachel. “Honey, you have to get me – um, let me see – we need to clean the, the burns…” Even as she spoke, blisters were beginning to form, awful bubbles under Kurt’s skin.

“911,” Kurt said, head slack against Terri’s shoulder. “Hands, feet, percent of the body – I need… the hospital will help.” That was Rachel’s part, facts and statistics, to convince Terri that if she really cared for them like a mother, really wanted to protect them, she had to get him to a hospital. But Rachel couldn’t help him; she had to _stop_ him.

“It’s okay,” she said, standing. “Everything will be fine. We need antiseptic, bandages, and painkillers. The burns are clean. He’ll be okay. We need to get him under cool running water right away and keep him there.”

“Hold him, take him, I’ll get everything, I’ll turn the shower on,” Terri said, breathless, and shoved him into her arms before rushing from the room.

“What are you…” Kurt said, eyes closed, too far gone to be angry at her.

Rachel held him close and rocked him. “We were wrong,” she whispered. “She’s not going to get help. We don’t want her to think about us dying, Kurt. She’s not going to get cold feet. She can’t see us dying as an option. She’d take it.”

“But we were going to see our parents.” Kurt’s cheeks were wet. He sounded very young.

“We will,” Rachel promised. “But this won’t work.”

“It _would_. How do you know?”

She set her face in his neck to whisper in his ear, close, where he still smelled faintly of some stupid spicy cologne but mostly of unwashed boy. Just before Terri ran back in, hair flying, to scoop him away, Rachel whispered, “There’s a body in the attic.”

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Only once Kurt was lying on his bed, still damp from a half an hour under cold water, bandaged and drugged into unconsciousness, did Terri’s heart slow below a hundred beats per minute. She collapsed to the floor, leaning against the bed, and tugged Rachel down beside her.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathed.

Rachel pulled her knees up toward her chin, curling around herself.

“I know,” Terri said, tucking Rachel under her arm. “That was scary, wasn’t it, baby.”

Her stomach turned at the thought of the dead-gray blisters swelling on Kurt’s hand and leg, and she pulled Rachel closer. “But it’s over,” she said, “all over now.” Although, of course, it wasn’t. She breathed deeply until the nausea passed. None of this was doing a thing for her blood pressure. “And you were so brave. I couldn’t have done it without you. You might have saved your brother’s life!”

“I know,” Rachel said.

“Well, I am so proud of you.” She kissed Rachel’s temple. “I’m going to be depending on you a lot more, now. You’re going to have to take care of your brother. This is quite a wrench in my plans, and we’re all alone out here.”

Rachel turned, meeting her eyes, and Terri realized it was the first time she’d done so all evening. Her eyes were dark. “I will take care of Kurt,” she said, voice heavy and certain.

Terri shook off a momentary feeling of unease and kissed Rachel again. “That’s my girl.” She sighed and got to her feet, one limb at a time. She felt tired. She felt _old._ “Let’s get you in bed, baby,” she said, waiting, eyes on Rachel. She watched with the suspended fear of someone certain that, in this moment, if the cornered animal struck, she wouldn’t be able to stop it.

But Rachel just stood and walked to the door, and the moment was over, a silly symptom of having unlocked Kurt’s restraints to tend to the burns on his leg.

She followed Rachel and tucked her into bed, smoothing the blanket up to her chin. The girl’s face was pressed against her pillow, her cheeks squished. Terri looped her hair behind her ear. “Are you going to be able to sleep okay? I could give you something.”

“No,” Rachel whispered, eyes shut tight. “I’m okay.”

“I love you,” Terri said, and left the room before Rachel could answer. She locked the door behind her.

She went back to Kurt’s room next and sat on the edge of the bed. He was pale, eyelashes dark against his cheeks, and his lower lip drooped as if in a pout. His hair lay flat over his forehead, and she smoothed it aside before laying her hand against his cheek. He groaned and turned in his sleep, curling closer to her.

“It’s okay,” she said. Kurt’s face twisted, brows drawing together, and his eyes opened slightly, only the whites showing. “It’s going to be okay,” she insisted, smoothing them closed. She started humming a half-remembered lullaby from her own childhood – _“guardian angels God will send thee”_ – unsure what else to try. She’d never been a mother before. She hadn’t had to get to know Kurt, to raise him; so he liked music and sequins and French. That was nothing to go on.

_“I my loving vigil keeping, clear through the night.”_

Kurt settled down, forehead pressed against her hip. His hand was swollen under the bandages, the blisters covered but still there. They really were out here all alone.

Terri started crying, and kept humming anyway. _“Midnight slumber close surround thee…._ ”

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No one woke Rachel up the next morning. She slept in fits, interrupted by nightmares and the sudden jerks into consciousness that came with them. When she did manage to get more than three consecutive hours it was near dawn. When she woke for the last time, muzzy and confused, her door was open and she heard music.

Shoving her hair down and back so that she could see, she stumbled into the hallway. Kurt’s door hung open as well, sunlight streaming through the window. His bed was empty and the sheets stripped, like a hospital bed after someone –

“Kurt,” Rachel said, voice coming out in a whisper. “Kurt!”

Even the second time, she got none of the volume she meant to, but Terri heard her. “In here!” she called.

Rachel fought for each breath until finally, too soon, she was at the door of the kitchen, following the sound of Terri’s humming – but there Kurt was, propped in a chair, clean and wearing a different shirt and a new skirt. “Oh,” she said as her lungs started working again.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Terri smiled at her from the counter. “I thought I’d let our hero sleep in. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Rachel said, “Mom.”

Terri paused, eyes racing over Rachel’s face, then walked over and kissed her cheek. “Have a seat with your brother, baby, I’ll get you some cereal.”

Rachel leaned over to grab Kurt’s good hand as soon as Terri turned to refrigerator. “Are you okay?”

Kurt frowned at her with obvious difficulty, hand heavy and lax in hers. “I am,” he said, “ _heavily_ medicated, my dear.”

“I ran out this morning and got several more kinds of painkillers,” Terri said, setting the milk and a box of Rice Crispies on the table along with a Styrofoam bowl. “Spoons are in this mess somewhere.” She patted Rachel’s head, then picked up a needle and a small bag of beads. “He’s also had a little wine. I thought, as long as it’s medicinal… he _is_ seventeen.”

“That makes sense.” Rachel fished a plastic spoon out from under a pack of Ramen noodles, watching Kurt’s glazed eyes. “You’re not in pain?”

“I’m positively floating,” Kurt confided, words slightly slurred.

“Good. That’s good.” She fingered the tiny rip at the seam of her shirt where she had torn it coming down from the attic, and watched as Kurt gazed vaguely at the ceiling, mouth hanging open. She poured milk into her cereal. It would give her another stomach ache. She ate it anyway. “Do you want me to change his bandages?” she asked, eyes still on Kurt.

“I can do it myself,” Kurt snapped, almost like himself.

“You can’t, sweetie,” Terri reminded him. “Your hand is hurt. But I just got them a few hours ago, baby. If you’d do them tonight, it would be a huge help.”

“Of course,” Rachel said, and smiled. “Whatever you need.”

“My little angel,” Terri said. “I don’t know how I’d manage without you.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was when she walked in on them making Kurt’s bed that Terri knew they were ready. Kurt, swathed in bandages that twisted her gut every time she saw him, tugged aimlessly at the sheets. Rachel smacked his good hand. “Don’t pretend to help if all you’re going to do is make it harder. You are such a _boy_ ,” she said.

“I’m in pain,” he protested. “And I’m more than a little drunk.”

“I am aware, thank you,” Rachel said. “Your breath makes that vastly clear every few seconds.”

“Well, excuse me, Miss Polly-Smell-Freshly, but I’m too inebriated to brush my teeth. I might vomit.”

“I’d heard that alcohol kills brain cells, but I confess I didn’t expect it to take affect so quickly.”

Despite their bickering, Rachel tightened the corners of the sheets as Kurt fumbled pillows into cases. And Terri thought, _Yes. They’re good kids. We work, here, this house. This family. All they need is a father._

There was, she acknowledged in the back of her mind, a chance that this was the wrong decision. She was making it after having stayed up all night, crying and clutching Kurt’s good hand. She was making it while she was still frightened – for Kurt, of the strange look in Rachel’s eyes, of how alone she still felt even with her children. She had thought things would be different when she was a mother, and they weren’t, not really.

So maybe it was the wrong decision, but still, she made it. She went to her room and sat alone, surrounded by everything heavy and sharp, and she picked up her cell phone.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Three**

It was like his son had never left, was the thing.

Every room in their house bore his stamp. Burt couldn’t look at the curtains in the living room without hearing Kurt demand that they be eggshell rather than mauve; couldn’t look at the clock in the front hall without seeing Kurt fix its pendulum for the umpteenth time; couldn’t look at the couch in the den without feeling the satiny upholstery Kurt had wanted to use. He could hear Kurt’s commentary over every CD, smell him in the towels in the bathroom, and he could feel the pile of his heavy clothes in the laundry room.

Worse, he could see Kurt. Sitting in every chair, leaning against every car in the garage, sprawled with his homework on every bed. Kurt was always there in the corner of his eye, and it only made things worse.

“Would you like more tea? It’s white Darjeeling, imported directly from West Bengal,” said Hiram Berry. Burt nodded. He hated tea.

The Berrys’ house looked like a showhome, a tasteful model designed for a magazine. Burt was afraid to touch anything and sat on the edge of the couch, ill at ease, whenever he went over.

But still he went – at least three times a week. He and Hiram went to the police station together to let the cops know they weren’t giving up. Sometimes they gave interviews together, too.

It was ugly. Burt knew what they were doing. _See_ , he was saying – to the police, the media, the country. _You have to find my boy; he’s with the rich, pretty, straight girl._ And Hiram stood by him to say, _See. You have to find my girl; she’s with the son of this straight Christian blue collar worker._

And afterward, Burt went with Hiram to the Berry household, where Kurt _wasn’t_ , not at all, not even in shadows, and he let the absence sink into his chest like a stone.

Sometimes they talked. Usually they watched tapes of Rachel’s performances. From when she was toddling in place and winning blue ribbons for pointing her to toes, up to when she was spinning, silly-elegant, and belting show tunes under her stiff new bangs; they had hundreds of tapes.

Burt liked that. It was everything _connected_ to his son and nothing _of_ him; pressure added to the pain but no ghost of his presence.

“I miss her,” Hiram would whisper, as though it were a secret – it was, because to miss them was to acknowledge that it had been too long. Carole was quiet and steady and strong, the reason Burt still got up in the morning, but he never told her he missed Kurt. He had a feeling Hiram would never say this to Leroy.

“I know,” Burt would say.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He got home at ten o’clock to a silent house with every single light turned on. Finn had been having trouble with the dark lately, and Burt didn’t mind being able to see every corner like it was day. It was the silence that got to him – after Mildred and Andy left, any semblance of normalcy went out of the house with them. The house was filled, Carole and Schuester and the kids, but it was quieter than it had ever been when it was just him and Kurt.

Kurt had always been _busy_ – doing laundry, cleaning, puttering around in the kitchen, playing his music too loud, singing to himself. There were dozens of machines in the house, it seemed, and Kurt used every one of them in the course of a day.

The television was on tonight, muted, and the house was so quiet Burt could hear the high whine of the set playing. Mercedes was watching it, face blank, with Blaine asleep on her shoulder. Will Schuester was in the chair Carole had brought in when they moved, staring pensively at a piece of paper.

“Hey,” Burt said. He looked at the TV and away again, quickly; it was the news, and they were doing a report on that other missing girl, the one with the rich dad. There was speculation that her disappearance might be connected to Kurt and Rachel’s. He didn’t think so. He didn’t care.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Hummel.” Mercedes looked around as if waking up herself and then down at her watch. “Oh my gosh. We should get going, huh?”

“Your folks’d probably like that,” Burt agreed.

“I’ll take you,” Will said, rousing himself and folding the paper into his pocket. “I can pick you two up tomorrow, Mercedes, and you can get your car then. You shouldn’t drive this late.”

“It’s only ten,” Mercedes said, but didn’t actually argue.

Will stood up and approached Burt. “The kitchen’s all done, and there’s some soup in the fridge. Carole just got back from work, she’s upstairs. And… I might have to go away for a few days, soon. Just a heads up. Emma will still be around to help out if you need her, though.”

“All right.” He nodded, only taking in every other word. Kurt would be yelling at Finn about the state the bathroom was in right about now, on any other summer night.

Mercedes turned off the TV and shook Blaine’s shoulder. “Come on, boy, time to get up.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Burt left the room while she was rousing Blaine. He couldn’t talk to Blaine, who tried so hard and so obviously to be brave and adult in the face of all this, whose eyes looked all the more lost and afraid for it.

He trudged up the stairs instead, to Finn’s room, just – to make sure.

Finn was asleep on his bed, snoring, with the overhead light and two lamps turned on. A bundle of pink fluff protruded from a sleeping bag on the floor – Quinn’s hair, Burt reminded himself again.

“Hey there,” Carole said, wrapping her arms around him from behind. “How are the kids downstairs?”

“On their way out. Will’s taking them.”

“Okay.” She settled against him, warm and soft. She smelled like soap, all her makeup gone, the sleeves of her robe enveloping his hands. “Did the police have anything new?”

“No. They’re starting to think maybe there is some connection to that other girl who went missing, the real rich one, even though they were almost a month apart. I don’t see what that has to do with anything. Don’t see how it helps us find him, anyway.”

“Burt, I’m scared for Kurt.” It was so low a whisper he nearly missed it.

He turned and folded her in his arms, hands fisting in the back of her robe. “So am I.” It hurt to say it, to admit it into this house.

“We’ll find him,” she said into his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re going through of this on top of everything. I can’t imagine… but we’ll find him.” She said it fiercely, so fiercely he almost believed her, even though they both knew how much the chances decreased with every passing day. “He’s strong, Burt. We’ll find him.”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, and the possibility of never seeing Kurt again, of this forever, crashed into him as if it had never occurred to him before. It had, a thousand times a day it had.

“We will,” she said. She pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “Have I told you how proud I am of you? You’ve been so strong.”

Burt leaned into her hair and closed his eyes.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Will found Emma asleep on the couch and stood for a moment, watching her. _I love you_ , he thought, and he didn’t know why he would jeopardize this now that he finally had it, this precious thing with her – really had it, not just something that could slip through his fingers – why he would even consider leaving.

But he was.

“Hey, Ems.” He sat down next to her and stroked her cheek. “You want to move to the bed?”

“Will?” She rolled over, stretching her arms above her head. “What time is it?”

“Ten-thirty or so.” He stroked her hair back from her face. “Actually, if you’re up to it… I’d like to talk to you about that call Terri made.”

Emma stared up at him, huge brown eyes resigned and hurt. “You’re going to her.”

“No,” Will said firmly. “Not if you veto the idea. It’s up to you.”

“But you want to? Will, that woman is crazy, and she was horrible to you.”

“It’s just… she was a huge part of my life for so long.” He laughed dryly. “Actually, she _was_ my life, for… too long, and it was – it wasn’t healthy, and I would never want that back. I’m with you, Emma, I choose you. I love you. But I’m afraid… I don’t want her to get hurt. I think we can agree that she’s not entirely stable, and I’m afraid she’ll… hurt herself, or someone else. I just want to make sure that this big emergency isn’t something dangerous.”

“Will,” Emma said, shaking her head, hair mussed against the cushion. “If you start this trend, she’s never going to let you stop. She’ll keep thinking of emergencies. We can’t live like that, with Terri interrupting our life together every few months. She needs to find help for herself.”

“I know. I know, you’re right, it would be better. But after everything we went through, I feel like I owe her one chance. I mean, what if it is a real emergency?”

“Even if it is, she’ll have some kind of trap set,” Emma said. “I try not to speak ill of other people behind their backs, because that is a vice and it leads to other bad behavior, but Terri is a mean, awful woman and you know it.”

“She is,” Will admitted. “But she wasn’t always, and then we lived together for years, her life was never what she wanted it to be, and I was all she had… and she got that way. I’m not saying she was ever a saint, or that it’s my fault that she enjoyed crushing people’s dreams when she couldn’t have hers, but – I did love her, for a long time, and I just… feel like I should see her just this once, if she says she needs me.” He bent over and kissed Emma’s nose. “But like I said, I won’t go if you say no. I want to help her if I can, but not at the expense of my relationship with you.”

“I wouldn’t ever veto something you want, Will,” Emma said.

“Does it help to know you can?”

Emma smiled and leaned up to kiss him back. “It does, a little.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Kurt was beginning to sober up for the first time in several days, and he did not like the feeling. Rachel and Terri seemed to agree that it was time to cut back on the painkillers and alcohol for his own good. Kurt, on the other hand, was very (if muzzily) certain that this was a bad idea. His leg and arm radiated a bone-deep pain that grew unbearable whenever he moved too much, and while he refused to look directly at them without the bandages, he knew the burns were hideous and the blisters were grotesque from Terri’s and Rachel’s faces. He also knew that he would have the scars forever, and that ‘forever’ might not even be that long if he got infected.

He’d prefer to stay drugged.

Instead, the world was coalescing around him into a living room with bars on the window, and Terri had her glasses on again. It was just his luck that he’d get kidnapped and dragged to parts unknown and _still_ have a Schuester for a teacher.

“I hope you’re both ready to learn,” Terri chirped, whipping a dry erase marker out of the purse on her shoulder. Kurt wondered if the gun was in there. It wasn’t as if he’d be able to get at it. “We’ve let ourselves get off schedule under these extreme circumstances, but we need to get back on track now that Kurt’s feeling a little more himself.”

Rachel settled down on his good side, putting a hand on his knee. “We’re ready!”

“Excellent. Today we’re going to talk about the Seven Years’ War, which is a very important and boring part of American history. What happened was, the Indians teamed up with the French and tried to make us leave America, which of course didn’t work because there weren’t enough Indians and the French aren’t very good at anything but food.”

Terri turned to the whiteboard, fishing for more markers, and drew a stick figure with yellow braids, blue eyes, and a headband with a feather in it. “This,” she explained, “is a white person who has been taken into an Indian family and treated as one of their one – like Mary Jemison. There were countless beautiful, happy incidents like this during the Seven Years’ War. The Indians would take someone in to replace a lost relative, and before you know it, the new person had adapted completely, married, and lived a rich, happy life! Mary Jemison in particular bargained _her_ little story into superstardom, and she is still famous to this day.” She nodded significantly. “I hope you two take this to heart.”

Kurt thought that at least, at school, he could forget the agenda they were pushing. He was immersed in it twenty-four seven, after all. He didn’t know that even the teachers were aware of what they were doing any longer (well, except for Mrs. [Nazi sympathizer]). But this was so… simplistic. So starkly obvious.

He raised his hand – the good one, the one that wasn’t throbbing all through his arm – and said, “What year was this?”

“Oh, the 1700s,” Terri said breezily. “Now, it’s time for a little reflection on the words of Sue Sylvester.” She took out the next index card. “‘SueTip 5: The first rule of an independent life is to live it pet-free. You may look into the window of a pound and be momentarily weakened by the sight of those big eyes and all that puffy fur, but next thing you know they’re shedding on your tracksuit, peeing on your trophies, or just plain whimpering in the night when you’re trying to get your vital ten minutes of shut-eye. The more inspired among you may think of spiders or snakes to frighten your enemy, but those critters will turn around and run scared at the slightest sign of a fight. And there is always the possibility that if you have a pet, an adversary will sneak into your house in the dead of night and PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE. Above all else, you don’t want to be responsible for something that’s more trouble than it’s worth – unless of course you’re a soccer mom. In which case, don’t worry. My plan for world domination will soon relieve you of your duties.’ Which is a lot to say that we won’t be getting a puppy, kids. Mom has plenty on her hands already with you two.”

“We won’t bother you for one,” Rachel said.

“I’m not much of a dog person,” Kurt agreed. “Of all the things I’d like to ask of you, that’s not even on the list.”

“Wonderful! Okay, kids, now I have to do a little cleaning, so I’d like you to go to your rooms for the evening.”

“Can we go to the same room?” Kurt looked up at her, putting his hand over Rachel’s. “I don’t feel well…”

“Oh… I suppose so.” Terri sighed, lips curling, clearly relishing the image of herself as the indulgent mother. “Go on now, though, I have to get to work.”

Rachel released a breath Kurt hadn’t heard her take. Her hand was shaking in his. “We’re going,” she said. “We’re going right now.” She hauled Kurt to his feet, arm looping around his waist. He winced when she hit his bad arm; the throbbing seemed to change location and direction, as if ripples were spreading out from the point of contact. “I’m sorry!” she said.

“It’s fine. I just… I need to lie down. Let’s go to my room.”

Terri locked them in. Of course she locked them in.

Rachel helped Kurt to his bed and onto it. She and Terri had been changing the sheets like maniacs lately, trying to keep him from infection, and these ones still smelled of laundry soap. He lay back obediently, and Rachel curled up beside him, hair tickling his chin.

Kurt circled her with his arm, one hand playing with her hair. “What is _up_ with you, Rachel? And don’t think that just because we’re cuddling I’m not mad, because I swear to god I could smack you right now. We should be home with our parents after my humiliating but mercifully brief stint in the hospital, where I would either be recognized or signal the nurse that I needed help. There would have helicopters out to retrieve you in a matter of hours, and instead you’re asking ‘how high’ every time she says ‘jump.’”

Rachel pulled away from him to sit up, looking down into his eyes, face dead white. “Are you serious? I saved your life, Kurt. I saved mine, too.”

“But we’ve been over this. That was our whole plan. She won’t let us die, she has to believe that she’s our mother. She has to take care of us.” His hand pulsed and his leg burned. “She won’t let us die.”

“Yes, she will,” Rachel said, small and certain. “You don’t remember what I told you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What I told you when I sabotaged your plan. In the kitchen, when you… when you got hurt, I –”

“No, Rachel, I don’t remember. I was preoccupied with the loss of consciousness and the scalding water all over my body. God, this… it wasn’t enough to be the gay kid with the preternaturally high voice. Now I have to be Rigoletto. I’m never going to –”

“They have surgery for this,” Rachel said firmly. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll be brilliant. We both will, together, in New York.”

“Yes, the Phantom was brilliant too. Maybe I can find a dark basement to hide in while you sing for me.”

“Stop it, Kurt. I told you, they can fix this. I saved your _life_. If we make her choose between giving this up and one of us dying? She’ll let us die.” Rachel glanced at the door, and just then, something started dragging in the attic just above their heads. It scraped slowly toward the hallway.

Rachel dropped back down beside him, tears beginning to spill over. “Kurt, she’s already killed someone.”

“No,” he said. “No, no no no.”

“There’s a body in the attic,” Rachel wept. “I mean, there are… pieces of it left.” She wiped her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything for us. We’re still going to do whatever it takes to get out of this, and we’re going to make it. I just, Kurt, I won’t let us be next.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Terri hummed to herself as she doubled the plastic wrapped around the torso to be sure the body wouldn’t drip anything nasty on the carpet. They were so close to being complete, to being a whole family, and the house would be perfect when Will got there. He needed to see that she was serious this time. She wouldn’t take him for granted any longer, she would be the perfect wife, she would cook, clean, be a mother, _and_ bring home the bacon. He would have absolutely nothing to complain about. His life would be the ideal some people spent their whole lives looking for. He could tutor their children, do little dances and songs with them if he insisted – Rachel was even his favorite for that, last she checked. No one would question his ideas or leadership; after all, they were his _children_ , so how could they? And they could put on little shows and she would laugh and clap in all the right places.

She would make him happy.

And now she had rotting flesh on her hand. Just perfect. The amount of scrubbing you had to do to get rid of something like that…

She rolled the torso in plastic several more times, and then dragged it over to the hatch. This was the tricky part; she’d only had to do an arm and a leg before; even the leg had been quite a hassle. Backing down a ladder with several pounds of decomposing human flesh, muscle, bone, and fluid was just too much for a working woman.

She let it drop, instead.

It made a horrible noise, but didn’t splatter as far as she could tell from up here. She quickly jumped down beside it and lifted it up – no, nothing on the carpet. Rachel had done such a nice job with the vacuuming before; she’d have to set her to it again. She really was the luckiest mother. Kurt had turned out to be more of a handful than she’d anticipated, but still, all things considered, Kendra had just been wrong. Two such wonderful children couldn’t possibly break her heart. They were mending it.

She took the torso out back, mindful of the bit of yard the kids could see from Kurt’s window; this was no time to upset the poor things. Not when they had an inspirational quote to discuss. Luckily the little dock that stuck out into the swamp was too far to the right for him; also luckily, none of the alligators were actually _on_ it today. A few times she had come out to leave their snacks and the disgusting things were sunning themselves on her dock, of all the nerve. She had no intention of going out among them, either, so they had just had to go without those times. _Which was why I still have so many pieces to get rid of._

She sauntered to the end of the dock and let the plastic wrapping unravel, spinning the body free into the swamp. It landed with a messy splash. Terri let the plastic fall as well and hurried back into the house, noting over her shoulder that one of the logs beneath the dock began floating purposefully toward where the torso had sunk.

Horrible. Right beneath her feet! But she had her gun. Kendra always knew how to take care of her little sister.

Terri locked the door behind her (with her clean hand) and went to close the attic staircase before she washed up and changed; the smell was absolutely offensive and she had to shower every single time she disposed of a piece.

She was pushing the stairs closed when something caught her eye, bright amidst the dust and cobwebs. A piece of blue cloth, just a scrap. She reached out and plucked it away from the metal of the supports, unsure why it bothered her so much. It could have come from something she was wearing one of these times. Except…

She walked into Rachel’s room and started pulling shirts out of the dresser, one after another, dropping them on the bed after looking them over.

Rachel had a scratch on her leg, Terri remembered.

And one of the shirts had a tear.

Just then she heard her cell phone ringing in her own room. It was the ringtone she’d set for Will. Hands shaking, it took her twice as long as normal to unlock the padlock and rush in to retrieve her cell; she tossed the torn shirt onto her bed on the way. “Will?” she gasped as soon as she hit receive.

“Terri….”

“Please say you’ll come,” she said, heart fast and painful in her chest. If this was all for nothing – if she was out here alone with them –

“Yes.”

“ _Oh_ ,” she said, and started crying. “I promise, you’ll – when you get here, when you see why I need you – you won’t regret this, Will. You won’t.”

“I hope not. But I need you to understand something. You realize we’re divorced, and that I’m coming out to help you as a friend? I’m with Emma now, Terri. The only reason I’m doing this at all is that she’s okay with it. I’m coming down for a few days to make sure that you’re all right, but that’s it. I have a lot on my plate here. We both have our own lives to live now.”

“I understand,” she said. “Of course. You’re right.” _Men._ Tell them what they wanted to hear, and sooner or later they did what you wanted. Things would be so much simpler if they wouldn’t insist on doing things the long way, but they had to have their little power trips. That was probably the entire reason for the Seven Years’ War. And the territory disputes that had given the Ottomans so much trouble.

“Well… I’ll be leaving late tomorrow. I’ll get to your house around eight, we can discuss this, and then I’m going straight to my hotel. The day after that I’ll see what I can actually do for you, but then I have to leave. My return ticket is already paid for.”

“Yes, yes, it won’t need that long, I hope.” He’d forget all about his red panda and his precious return ticket once he saw the home he had waiting for him. And money would be no problem; Terri would take care of everything until he was used to things and ready to go back to work himself.

“Okay,” he said warily. “I’ll see you, then.”

“Soon,” she agreed. “Thank you.” She hung up before she could say “I love you,” but she felt it, all through her she felt it.

The torn blue shirt sat conspicuously on her bed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Terri stuck an air freshener in the plug in the hallway before she did anything else. She always thought more clearly with correctly perfumed air, and the smell that had leaked down from the attic was atrocious.

She stared at the shirt some more, and compared it once again to the scrap of cloth from the attic stairs. It wasn’t as if she could have done it; she’d bought a collection of men’s shirts for Kurt and Rachel to wear while they adjusted, and had never worn them herself. That Rachel would disobey her and violate her trust so blatantly, it was simply unthinkable.

Or it would have been, if she hadn’t been holding the evidence in her hands.

Slowly, she unlocked the door to Kurt’s room and swung it open. The kids were on the bed together, pressed close, and it tugged heavy at her chest to see them that way – siblings, together, but still, the two of them against her. Maybe she would have been better off with an only child. She had so wanted two, but she hadn’t realized how much work it would be. Kendra was always right about these things.

“Rachel,” she said. “I’d like you to come with me, please.”

Rachel sat straight up, dragging Kurt part of the way with her. He winced and fell back, hand tight on her arm. “Why, what is it? I thought we were supposed to stay out of your way for the evening.”

“I thought so too.”

Rachel stared at the shirt in her hand blankly. “What is it – Mom? What’s wrong?”

Terri crossed her arms. If she wanted to do it here, they could do it here. “Did I or did I not explicitly tell you _not_ to go in the attic?”

“Oh,” Rachel said. “No, no.”

“Terri,” Kurt started.

“You _hush_ ,” she snapped. “And don’t you _dare_ call me that.”

“Mom,” he corrected instantly. “She didn’t mean to, I put her up to it. I just thought –”

“What, Kurt? What did you think was so important that you told your little sister to disobey me?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

“There. You see? Nothing. All of this ridiculous fuss because you were curious. You should know better. And Rachel, really, I know you want to make your older brother happy, but you should know better too. You’re not a little girl any more. I am disappointed in both of you and you will both be punished for this. Honestly, I don’t even know who to hold more responsible. After everything I’ve done for you both, everything I do every single day. Don’t you think I’m under enough stress as it is, trying to hold this family together while your father plays pretend with his ginger tramp, and _I_ take care of the move, _I_ take care of the house, _I_ take care of our children, _I_ am the manager at Sheets-N-Things, _I_ have to put dinner on the table. And what do you two do? You sneak around behind my back. You’re mean and clumsy and you make things _harder_ than they have to be –”

“Mom,” Rachel gasped, and Terri found that she had advanced until she was standing over the girl. “We’re sorry, we’ll do better –”

“No,” Terri said. “No crocodile tears and big apologies. I _need_ you both on your best behavior when your father gets here, and plainly I’ve been too soft on you. You’ll have to be punished.”

Rachel burst into tears. “I won’t let you!” She stood shakily, arms coming up as if to protect her face. “I won’t die, I won’t die, I won’t die –”

“Rachel!” Terri reached out and tugged her arms down, crushing the girl to her in a hug. “You’re not going to _die_ , for God’s sake! I know I haven’t really punished you yet and you’re nervous, but goodness, this is a ridiculous overreaction.”

“Oh god,” Kurt said, curling in on himself slightly, and she realized he was crying as well, if more quietly.

“Babies! Why would you be afraid you were going to _die_? I would think that from you, at least, I could expect a little more level-headedness,” she accused Kurt. She cradled the back of Rachel’s head and the girl melted into her, arms wrapping around her, tiny and warm.

Kurt stared up at her, wide-eyed and almost green he was so pale, and she knew.

“Oh, _Rachel_ , really!” She tried to pull back so that she could look her daughter in the eye, but Rachel wailed and clung tighter, and it was nice to be acknowledged as someone so necessary. “Now, baby girl, did you look in the Tupperware container? Is that what this is all about?” When Rachel nodded into her chest, Terri sighed and patted her back. “And you had to go and tell your brother about it, and the two of you sat alone working yourselves into a tizzy over nothing. Really, of all the stupid things to do.” She kicked the bed lightly. “Kurt, sit up.”

This was easier said than done, in his delicate state, and then she had to drag a near-hysterical Rachel along with her when she sat down next to him, but eventually they were all sitting together along the wall, where she could be close to them and explain things. It was another few minutes before Rachel got her breathing under control. Terri patted her back and murmured sweet things into her ear until she stopped gulping for air like a fish on land.

Terri decided to assume that Kurt had reached an emotional state wherein he was capable of understanding her, then, because she was bored enough having waited for Rachel.

“Babies, _really_. The body in the attic is nothing for you to worry your sweet heads about. That girl was just an experiment. When I was getting the house and the trailer ready for you two, I had to be sure that it was safe and that everything was completely ready. You wouldn’t want your mother to go off unprepared, would you? And I could hardly use my children as a test case. So I let that rude girl live with me for a few days as soon as the trailer was stripped and the house was remodeled, just to see how it went – you know, in case there was anything I hadn’t thought of. She never meant anything to me. Not like you two. I would _never_ hurt you two. Now, don’t you feel silly? All of this drama over a misunderstanding.”

“What was her name?” Rachel asked.

“Whose name, baby?”

“The girl – the one before us, what was her –”

“Oh, don’t say that. She wasn’t before you, like you’re in the same series or something. She was just here for a while as a test run. It was a ridiculous name, anyway. I seriously question the wisdom of letting the father name a daughter, especially an Italian. She was far too attached to him; it did her good to have a mother in her life.”

“What was her name?” Kurt said.

“Oh, really!” Terri stood up. “I appreciate that you two are close, and I’m glad, I really am, but could you not gang up on me _constantly_? It is exhausting and I have enough to do. I have to go and consider how I’m going to punish the two of you, and I don’t want to hear another word about that girl. Not _one word_. Do I make myself clear?”

Kurt nodded first, and Rachel followed suit.

“Excellent. You try to get some sleep. Take care of your brother, Rachel. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She slammed and locked the door behind her. The emotional roller coaster those two put her through! Inexcusable. But it was no more than she’d signed on for – and after all, Will was coming soon. Then everything would fall into place.

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Rachel did not sleep well. She suspected that Kurt didn’t fare any better, but she refrained from looking at him – from doing anything more than clinging to his hand, closing her eyes, and staring at the darkness behind them.

She shouldn’t have interfered with Kurt’s plan, she thought, over and over. She should never have done it. She should have gone along with it and, at worst, maybe his burns would have been more severe, but maybe he had been right all along, and they were special enough to Terri that she would have taken him to a hospital. He wouldn’t really have _died_ from a few burns. Probably. Almost certainly.

He could still get infected, even now, though. He could still –

And if he _was_ wrong. If he was wrong Terri might have her gun out tomorrow and Rachel had always thought that she would be strong, if it came to it, that she would fight for her life with tooth and nail and every _West Side Story_ -inspired move she had in her repertoire and that she would win because she was a star and stars won. Only more and more, she felt shaky and weak and _slow_ , in her head even, as if not even her brain could keep up with what was happening and needed to be done, never mind her limbs. For the first time in her life, Rachel Berry didn’t trust herself.

The room turned gray, then green, as the sun rose. It was slanting across her face when the lock rattled before coming undone. Terri walked in. “Good morning, starshine!” she exclaimed, arms spread wide.

Kurt leaned on his elbow, and Rachel let herself look at his face for the first time since last night. He was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes, but he didn’t look… worse. Infected. Just sleepless and scared. “Have you decided?” he asked.

“Decided what, sweetie?”

“On our punishment.”

Rachel pressed a hand over her mouth.

“Oh, well – you kids! I can’t,” Terri said, shamefaced but still smiling, almost shyly.

“Can’t? Can’t what?” Rachel blurted, pulling her legs in closer.

“When I look at those sweet little faces? I just can’t punish you. Not this time. Not on such a happy day.” She clapped her hands together in delight. “Our family will finally be whole today! So I want you two to get up, get showered, and Rachel, you can throw some oatmeal together. Then you can both meet me in the living room. We have some projects to work on that I think you’ll both enjoy!” She danced out of the room and out of sight, humming to herself.

“She’s lost it,” Kurt breathed in Rachel’s ear. “She’s completely lost it, oh my god.”

“Kurt – what if she means Mr. Schuester? She keeps talking about family and our dad, what if she means that he’s coming?”

“What if she _thinks_ he’s coming?” Kurt countered. There was a nasty, biting little hope in his chest now that she’d said it, and with Rachel’s eyes big and bright that hope seemed more convincing every second, but someone had to think realistically. “What if she thinks he is and he doesn’t and she gets angry – or she _still_ thinks he has? We could be serving food to an invisible head of the household by the end of the day.”

“But maybe it will be him,” Rachel said. “And if you’re right, what would we do about it?”

“Kids!” Terri called. “Get a move on! I should hear the shower running!”

“We’ll think of something,” Kurt said. “We can handle this. We’ve handled everything so far.” He wondered if the girl in the attic had thought she could handle Terri.

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After helping Kurt with his bandages this morning, Rachel was sure that she would never ever, even if the world suffered a catastrophic event and she had to live in some kind of post-apocalyptic martial state, be a nurse. On the bright side, she would make a very convincing nurse on the stage, should that ever be required of her.

Several of his blisters had broken. She remembered from her first aid training that this was bad, but it was bad because you were meant to get the injured person to the hospital where they could take care of things properly. Maybe at the hospital they would have lanced the blisters. Maybe she _should_ be lancing them now, since the hospital wasn’t an option.

The burns were still horrible, but at least they had stopped _bleeding_.

She washed her hands for several minutes running before she put the first two bowls of oatmeal in the microwave and darted back to Kurt’s room to be sure he was getting dressed all right.

“I’m not a _child_ , Rachel,” he snapped when she poked her head in. “It’s just going to take me a few minutes.”

“Your shirt’s on backwards,” she said, which was untrue, but she was gone before he figured it out. He deserved it for being so pessimistic when Mr. Schue could be here to rescue them by the end of the day.

She took Terri’s oatmeal in to her after she was sure there was enough sugar in it; Terri’s susceptibility to sweeteners outdid even her own, which was saying something. “What are we doing today?” she asked tentatively, looking at the wealth of crafting materials laid out around the living room.

“We’re going to get one hundred percent ready for your father,” Terri said. “I’m going to finish showing you how to make a skirt, so that you’ll have a pretty new pink one when he gets here. And your brother and I are going to bedazzle a Welcome Home sign for him.”

“That sounds great!” Rachel couldn’t think of a tactful way to ask for her “father’s” name, and retreated to the kitchen for the last bowl of oatmeal before she could say something that would get her smacked, or push Terri over into actually punishing her.

She hadn’t even been able to tell the body upstairs was a _girl_ , it was so…

She looked up when Kurt reached the kitchen. “We’re crafting today,” she reported.

“Oh, joy.” Kurt reached one of the lawn chairs and clutched at it for balance, knuckles white. “Have you seen the gun?” he asked, almost mouthing.

Rachel shook her head rapidly, grabbing his oatmeal. “Shut up, no, but she has her purse with her, I don’t know –”

“She’s completely insane, Rachel, we have to _try_ something –”

“Come on, kids, we don’t have all day!” Terri called, and Rachel slid under Kurt’s arm to support him.

“Coming!” she answered, and added in Kurt’s ear, “You can barely _move_ and we still don’t know if you’re sick, stop making things worse.”

Terri greeted them with a smile and a kiss for Kurt, whom she set firmly on the sofa beside her. “I thought I’d put you in charge of the bedazzling, sweetie.” She handed over a bedazzler and a plastic case of assorted gems. “I have this sign all done, but it could use a little sparkle.” She produced a rolled length of canvas and spread it over the coffee table.

 _WELCOME HOME WILL_ , it said in bubble letters the size of Kurt’s hand.

Rachel made a quick, strangled noise and Kurt kicked her ankle, gasping when the movement redistributed his weight against his burned leg.

“I know you’re excited, but try to behave,” Terri said, going through the pile of cloth on her lap. “Rachel, come around here on my other side, and I’ll fit you for this skirt… then I’ll show you how to put it together with the sewing machine, okay?”

Kurt raised an eyebrow significantly at Rachel, who was staring ahead too intently to see him as she made her way over to Terri. He sighed. It was going to be a long morning.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Rachel had always wanted a mother.

Or rather, she had always wanted _her_ mother. It wasn’t that there was anything missing with her dads, exactly, aside from the ability to hand-make her costumes for glee club. They loved her. She knew that. And she loved them. She wouldn’t have traded them for anyone. It was just that, sometimes, she used to wonder what her mother was like and whether she would have loved Rachel, too, if she had the chance.

Now she had the answers, and they hurt.

Terri Schuester was a monster, and Rachel knew that, she did. She knew it better than anyone, maybe, even Kurt, because he hadn’t seen the body.

But Terri smelled nice, she was soft against Rachel’s side and she was teaching her to sew, and – they had to humor her anyway – and she kissed Rachel’s cheek when she did well and her lipstick felt sticky on Rachel’s face, and… it wasn’t terrible. It didn’t hurt like Shelby did.

She had dragged a sewing machine out, the kind that folded out of a little table, and she was showing Rachel how to feed the material through it at the right speed, guiding it along the chalky outlines she’d drawn.

“This is so many pieces for one skirt,” Rachel said, looking at the weird abstract shapes spread on her lap. “Couldn’t we just cut a hole in a piece of cloth and sort of step into it?”

“Well, if you want it to look like you’re a homeschooled girl with severe mental problems,” Terri said. “I know it’s confusing at first. See, these ones are for the lining, to make it more comfortable. They go inside, that’s why they’re smaller. Now, which piece do you think is next?”

Rachel took a deep breath and tried to see these pieces as something complete – and three-dimensional, which was really tripping her up. There were at least four possibilities, but that one was smaller than the nearly-identical one over there, and this one had the same length along the side, which would make sense if they were going to get folded over…

“This one?”

“My smart girl!” Terri kissed her again and plucked it up. “Let me see how you’d do it…”

Maybe it hurt too much to deal with, and that was why, but Terri’s praise seemed painless.

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“I promise,” Will said, folding one last pair of clean underwear. He had seven for a two-day trip. Emma was helping him pack and she was very concerned about potential emergencies that could end with him in the hospital without a clean pair of underwear, leaving him open for humiliation at the hands of the doctors and nurses. He was fairly certain that if his life were in danger, most doctors and nurses wouldn’t waste time giggling at his underwear, but Emma did have her own unique priorities. “I’ll call you as soon as I get to the hotel. From the hotel phone.” He reached into his pocket and produced his cell phone. “But I do have this too, and it is fully charged.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Emma said, relief writ large on her face. “I trust you completely, there’s no… need for something like that…”

“I want to,” Will said firmly. “Of course you trust me, but I want to prove I’m worthy of that trust.” And given his history with Terri, he couldn’t blame Emma for being concerned.

“Well, I mean, if you insist, certainly I don’t want to talk you out of anything you feel is the right thing to do.”

Will smiled, taking her face in his hands and kissing her nose. “Are you joking? I wouldn’t blame you for vetoing this trip entirely. A call isn’t much to ask.” He hugged her and she settled against him.

Playing with his collar, she added, “But you’ll remember to turn your cell phone off on the plane? Because I’m thinking of making a pamphlet about that – about how people think it’s just a joke and that no plane ever went down because of someone’s laptop, but my thinking is, you’re going to be thousands of feet in the air so why take that kind of risk, right?”

“I will definitely turn my cell phone off. And then on again once we’re on the ground. I think they remind you about that kind of thing on the plane, even.”

“You’re right. I’m being silly. About that, not the other things, certainly not the underwear.” She stepped and back planted her feet, arms very straight at her sides and chin tilted up, and Will braced himself. “I know you feel like you have to do this. I just wish I understood why.”

Will hugged her again, resting his chin on her head. “I don’t think I understand it any better than you do.”

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Kurt twisted, trying to find a way to lie on his bed without being in pain, but it appeared that the problem was less his position and more the gruesome burns on his hand and leg. He tossed his volume of Proust to the floor and instantly regretted it; it wasn’t working to distract him, but it was probably working better than staring at the ceiling would. Now he’d have to wait until Rachel got back from the bathroom –

“Hey, sweetie. How are you feeling?” Terri poked her head around the door, hair swinging and catching the light. Well, she had access to shampoo, Kurt thought bitterly.

“I’m fine,” he lied, and then, “I could use another painkiller.”

“I thought so.” She smiled and came in, a plastic bag swinging in her hand, and sat on the side of the bed. “And I finally remembered a present I got for you last week! It’s been so hectic around here, I never gave it to you, can you believe it?”

“Incredible as it seems,” Kurt said with a tight smile.

“I’ll forget my own head next,” she sighed. “Here, now, take your Advil.”

Kurt swallowed it dry, in too big a hurry to worry about choking – and really, would it be so bad? Maybe it would accomplish what the burns had been intended for in the first place, and get him to a hospital.

Terri stroked his cheek and hair. “You’re a little warm,” she said.

“It’s a warm day,” he said, which was true – or looked like it was, out his window – but the climate control was set constantly to 60. “What are my presents?”

She brightened. “Well, I told you I’d get you all of those things – the moisturizers and facial creams, the good ones? – and I did!” She set the plastic bag in her lap and began taking out a wealth of French creams and Italian soaps, everything necessary to maintaining a complexion as flawless as his.

“Oh my _God_ ,” he said, seizing a handful of them. “Thank you so much! Maybe it’s not too late to save my forties. I think the formula is something like, add ten years for every night you don’t wash you face? I’ve never had to keep track of it because I _always_ took care of my skin.”

“I know you did.” Terri leaned closer, combing her fingers through his hair, gently teasing it into place. “And I know how much it must bother you, what happened to your leg and your hand.”

Kurt subsided, and tried to make moving away look like an accident of his search for a comfortable position. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. _Compared to getting out of here alive, anyway._

“You’re in denial,” Terri insisted. “It’s one of the stages of grief.”

“I think those are supposed to be for the death of a loved one, not a minor injury.”

“It’s not a minor injury, sweetie. One of these days you’re going to realize that. And I know you have your silly little heart set on showbiz, just like everyone else I love – I swear, sometimes I think God is punishing me for something – so disfiguring scars would be a big deal even if they weren’t dangerous to your health.”

“Why are you saying this?” Kurt turned his face away, unwilling to let her see how hard it was for him to block this out. And – hurt. He was hurt. Terri was awful, and psychotic, and an abusive kidnapping murderer, but she hadn’t said anything cruel to him in so long, it took him by surprise.

“Oh, no, sweetie.” Terri chased his hair down, ignoring his attempt to escape. “I’m just telling you I understand how hard it is for you. You’re already fighting twice as hard as anyone else because you don’t fit in the way all your little friends do. It must seem like a terrible joke to have this added on top of everything else.”

“Great.” Kurt stared at the slightly blurry wall and relished the slight numb obliviousness setting in from the Advil. “My disgusting scars are on the same level as my voice and sense of fashion.”

“You’re being deliberately difficult,” Terri said, tugging on a lock of hair. “I’m just proving that I can relate to your teenage problems, even if our family isn’t the most traditional. No, the real reason I brought it up is to give you these.” She bent over the side of the bed and fished in her purse, pulling out a handful of papers. “I’m so sorry this happened to you while I was supposed to be taking care of you, and money’s going to be tight for a little while, but as soon as we’re settled in….” She handed them over.

Kurt held them above his eyes and tried to focus – he could make out at least that they were printed from a few different websites – but he didn’t need to.

“It’s called tissue expansion,” Terri said. “It takes a while – four months – and we would have to wait anyway so that your scars can get suppler. But it makes your skin regrow right where it was, baby. There won’t be a scar. The skin will match exactly. You’ll be able to strut around in booty shorts if you want and no one will be able to tell the difference, not that I would advocate any child of mine wearing booty shorts. I’m not sure about your hand yet, but they do it on legs all the time.” She smoothed a hand over his cheek. “I want to promise you, Kurt. I’m going to fix this. It’s not silly to want to be as handsome as you have every right to be, or to be upset that you’re not even when bigger things are happening. And I _swear_ I will fix it.”

“Can you…” Kurt choked. “Can you go? I need to be alone.”

“Okay.” She bent and kissed him. “I love you, sweetie.”

He heard the door click shut behind her, but the padlock didn’t clank into place. He almost wished it had.

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Terri’s new house was not easy to locate. In fact, it was nearly impossible.

After four hours on an airplane, Will had touched down in Tallahassee, Florida at eight in the evening, which was the time he’d thought he’d be getting to Terri’s. Instead he had to wait another half an hour to retrieve his baggage before he even left, and then he had to find a taxi to take him to the car rental place. He had spent the entire time mentally thanking Emma for having rented the car beforehand with a fervor he usually reserved for prayer when he was afraid the New Directions were going to lose something they’d set their hearts on.

When he had filled out the paperwork, he found that the car awaiting him was a red Chrysler convertible, and burst out laughing, which did him no favors with the attendant.

“Sorry,” he said, “I have kind of a history with this car. I didn’t realize…. My girlfriend chose it.”

“Uh-huh,” said the attendant, who seemed to have other things on his mind. “Well, it’s full on gas, and we ask that you return it that way. Let us know if you have any problems.”

“Thank you,” Will said, and tossed his carry-on in the passenger’s seat so that he could start going over the directions again. It really was a great car, he thought as he started it up and turned on the air conditioning. He would have liked to put the top down, but the heat was absolutely brutal and it was starting to rain. But then, he and cars had never worked out all that well when women were involved – just look at the Blue Bomber Terri had bought him when they were married. And when he’d bought this thing…

 _“Oh, hey,_ homewrecker _!”_

He shook his head. He needed to get this over with so he could go home, and not just because he loved Emma, or because Terri was unpredictable and dangerous. He needed to be there for Burt and Carole. It had been too long. He didn’t think they’d accepted it yet, but he’d heard the policemen discussing it. After forty-eight hours, the chances of finding a missing child were almost nonexistent. He wanted to be there when they realized.

He tried, sometimes, to accept that Kurt was gone. Rachel – he couldn’t even imagine. To think of never seeing Kurt again pained him, and he flinched away from it every time, but Rachel… it wasn’t even pain. It was complete incomprehension. Her sweetness, her talent, her determination, her obliviousness and arrogance and generosity, even her accusations that he was ruining her life and career by letting anyone else sing – he had to see her again. Maybe he was too quick to judge Burt and Carole as the ones incapable of accepting things.

But at the moment, his most pressing concern was finding Terri’s house.

Part of Will’s confusion was no doubt due to Terri’s scattered directions, the increasing darkness, and the rain, but even aside from those factors it was bad. He was miles outside the nearest town, the roads were winding and increasingly poorly-paved, and there were no street signs. The scenery was a uniform mess of silver-gray trees and murky black water, with nothing to stand out as a landmark.

It took five very time-consuming wrong turns, even while on the phone with Terri, before he saw her car to his right and jerked the wheel before it could vanish like a mirage. He slid up her driveway in the soft mud and checked the clock on his dash. It was nearly eleven at night.

The house, small and yellow, managed nonetheless to loom. There were bars on the windows.

Will stopped and looked over his shoulder at the road. He thought for a second of turning around right now, before anyone saw him. This was an enormous expense to have made for nothing, but Emma would forgive him. There was something wrong with this house.

When he turned back the front door was open and Terri was coming down the steps. “Will,” she called, her face lit up. “You’re just in time for dinner!”

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“So… what’s up with the bars?” Will asked as Terri led him through to the dining room. She seemed pretty fixated on this dinner idea, and he had to admit, the airline’s food had left something to be desired. He could stand to eat. But house was weirdly bare and the windows…

“Bars?” Terri turned a chair, gesturing for him to sit. “You didn’t stop to have a drink on the way here, did you? I expected you to fall apart without me, but this is a bit much even for you, Will.”

“No, I… the bars on the windows… Terri, you do remember that we talked about how we’re over as a couple, right? I’m not falling apart without you. We’re both doing better on our own. You have a beautiful new house, a better job –”

“Don’t be silly. It was just a little joke. Sit down, I’ll get dinner out of the oven. You must be starving.”

“Aren’t you? You haven’t been waiting for me all this time, have you?”

“Oh, no. I had a very busy day.” She smiled and disappeared into the next room.

Will peered around, trying to find any window aside from the barred one out front. Maybe this was common in Florida, in order to trap the cool air or something. He hadn’t noticed a lot of houses with few and barred windows on his drive, but he hadn’t exactly been looking for them, either.

Still. Bars kind of stood out.

Terri came out with a smile and a heaping platter of venison casserole, which for some reason made him even more uneasy. If he could just think of why –

“I know it’s a little late for a real dinner,” she said, setting it on the table, “but why not treat ourselves and do things unconventionally? Would you like some wine?”

“Oh, no, no, thank you. I still have to drive back to the hotel tonight.”

“Of course you do. Cranberry juice, then?” She left before he could answer.

Will finally took his seat, perching carefully on the edge. The house was dead silent, but he had the unmistakable sense that someone else was here. He really hoped it wasn’t Sue. He actually wouldn’t put it past her to have his ex-wife lure him to Florida so that she could sabotage the New Directions – except, of course, that Terri was supposed to be past all that. Maybe not joyfully, but really moving on.

And Sue liked Kurt. Not even she would pull this kind of thing right now.

Terri reappeared with glasses of cranberry juice and paper plates. “Here we go!” she said, setting them down.

“You’re still unpacking?” Will asked, relieved. Of course – that would explain why the house was so odd and sparse. And why shouldn’t she be? She’d only been down here a few weeks, and she had a new job to keep her busy.

“Oh, no, we’re all settled in,” she said, serving him his plate and handing his juice over. “But I have had to make some adjustments, under the circumstances. I’m sure we’ll be back up to china plates in no time, though.” She smiled until her nose scrunched. He used to love it when she did that.

“Good,” he said, uncertain. “That’s great.”

“It really will be.” She turned to her own plate.

“So, Terri. Why exactly am I here?”

“Oh, Will.” She shook her head with a familiar look of fond exasperation. “That wouldn’t be polite at all. You may ask me how my new job is going, however, and eventually we’ll get to the less pleasant topics.”

“Okay,” he said, taking a drink as if it might give him patience. “How is your new job?”

“It’s going very well, thank you. I’m discovering skills in organization that I never knew I had. My assistants here are so much more professional, too. Nothing like Howard. I think this is going to be one of my greatest triumphs. But how have you been?”

“Good. Good. I mean… everyone’s very upset about… it hasn’t been a good time in Lima. But Emma and I are doing well apart from – missing Rachel and Kurt. It’s just so hard on their parents. I wish I could have met Hiram and Leroy under different circumstances, and Burt is just… gone. I don’t know how he makes it from one day to the next.”

“Hm,” Terri said. “Maybe they should have watched their kids more carefully.”

“Excuse me?” Will missed the piece of venison he’d been aiming for with his fork, but didn’t notice. “They should have – you’re blaming _them_?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Terri took a delicate sip from her glass. “If there’s one thing this move has made clear to me, it’s that if you want something, you have to make it happen. Whatever it takes. If you want kids, you have to get them, and you have to hold onto them.”

He picked his glass up for something to do with his hands. “I can’t talk about this with you. In fact, I should think about getting on my way. Emma’s waiting for me to call. Just tell me what the emergency is.”

Terri smiled hugely, almost vibrating in place with excitement. Her nose crinkled. “Our children.”

Will set his glass down and it shattered, splattering across the floor. He’d missed the table.

“I know you feel at home in Lima,” Terri said, her face swimming, voice distant. “But we’ll make it work here. For the kids.”

Terri had made Will feel many things in his life – happy, proud, excited; increasingly, as the years went by, worried or ashamed or _miserable_. His last thought before he went under was that this was the first time she had made him feel afraid.

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Terri puffed her cheeks out. Hadn’t _that_ been an adventure! Especially since he had been so disagreeable on the subject of those people her kids used to live with.

But now there was even more work to do.

She got the wheelchair out first, then patted Will’s cheek where he sat dangerously slumped in his chair, inches from collapsing to the floor. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said. This was going to be the hardest part. She wanted Will beside her, with her, so desperately. She was lonely and scared and _tired_ , so tired of taking care of everything. And instead, at first, he was only going to make it all worse. “I just can’t risk three against one – not until you adjust.” She set the bag of restraints beside him.

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Rachel woke up that morning groggy, with her head feeling stuffed and heavy. Again. She hadn’t felt this bad since last time Terri had drugged them, but there was no mark on her arm…

Terri had made them both tea last night. It had been chamomile and as sweet as Rachel liked it, but – she’d drugged them. Secretly. Rachel would almost have preferred the gun and to have to sit sweating while Terri stuck a needle in her arm – almost. It was just, God, what else had she been putting in their food when they weren’t watching? Rachel was constantly nauseous, and was it because of the animal products her body wasn’t used to or had she been ingesting something – something to keep her complacent –

She’d go crazy if she kept thinking like this. She got up and changed into her new pink skirt and a clean blue oversize shirt. The skirt was a little lopsided, but she felt proud of it anyway. It fit, and she had sewn it herself, even if she still didn’t really understand the mechanics of a pattern.

Her door was unlocked. Walking to the living room, where she could hear Terri chirping away, was a serious undertaking. The floor seemed to sink beneath her at every step, and she kept a hand on the wall to stay balanced and in a straight line. Rachel had learned the alphabet backwards by rote in case she should ever be pulled over by mistake and the officer tried to pin her with a DUI just because she was famous and successful, and she tried to recite it in her head now as if it would shake the fog off, but got stuck at S.

She reached the living room. The sign that said _WELCOME HOME WILL_ was strung along the wall. It was meticulously bedazzled, the tiny plastic stones set in diagonal lines through the bubble letters. It sparkled, throwing off green and pink.

“Hey, sweetie,” Terri said, beaming at her over a camera on a tripod. “Good morning, and don’t you look lovely! Doesn’t she look just adorable, Will?”

Rachel was crying even before she saw him, because – if he wasn’t there they were alone and Terri was getting worse, and if he was there… if he was…

“Rachel?” Mr. Schuester looked up at her blearily. “ _Rachel_?”

“Mr. Schue,” she sobbed, trying to run to him; she tripped and fell to her knees at his feet, but pulled herself up almost into his lap.

“There you are,” he said, frowning like he’d forgotten something important. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He sounded like she’d wandered to the store without telling anyone and been missing for a few mildly concerning hours, but reached for her and crushed her to him in a tight hug. Rachel climbed completely into his lap and fastened her arms around his shoulders, crying into his neck.

“Mr. Schuester?” Rachel turned, and Kurt was standing in the doorway. He looked more alert than either of them, eyes shining, face tight. He was clinging to the doorframe like it could keep him from throwing himself after Mr. Schue too, and Rachel wanted to _hit_ him in that moment – his stupid pride, that was why he had those burns and why she had to take care of everything and who cared if Mr. Schuester was out-of-touch and a traditionalist, he was an adult who loved them and he was here to make things better, he could worry about things and she could finally rest.

Then she just wanted Kurt near her, and held out an arm to beckon him over. She bumped her hand against the arm of Mr. Schue’s chair, which made her realize – “Why are you in a wheelchair?”

“I’m not…” He looked down. “Oh. I don’t… I should get up.” He made an attempt to do so, which was doubly futile with Rachel on his lap and the cuffs around his ankles, linking him to the footrest. “Terri, what did you do?”

“I’m sorry,” Terri said. She did not sound apologetic, though she did wince theatrically. “I had to do something to make things easier on myself. I’m already coping with a lot of extra responsibilities.” She waved Kurt over. “Now come here and let me get our family portrait!” When he didn’t immediately come over, she sighed and went to help him. “I want you to stand behind your dad and sister with me, okay, sweetie? And… oh my goodness, your hair is a disgrace.” She licked her hand and set about arranging it.

“What is going on?” Kurt said finally, reaching over Mr. Schue’s shoulder to grab Rachel’s. “Why are you here? Can we – can we –?”

“Don’t say anything you’ll regret, either of you,” Terri said pleasantly, swanning back over to the camera. “And say cheese!” She darted back over to stand beside Kurt and the flash went off, blinding, burning Rachel’s eyes.

“Oh my God,” said Mr. Schue, one hand tight on the arm of the chair, the other arm locked around Rachel’s waist so tight it hurt. “Oh my _God_ , Terri, what have you done to them? They were _here_? Have you gone insane?” When Terri walked over to him and bent with her hand out, he pushed it away. “Don’t touch me!”

Terri didn’t touch him. She remained bent close, breath slightly stale on Rachel’s cheek, the circles under her eyes showing beneath her makeup. “All I did was put our family together, the way it was supposed to be from the start. I don’t see why you’re making a big deal out of this after everything I’ve gone through, Will.”

“No. No, these kids have families – Terri, Burt and Carole are out of their minds with worry, and Hiram and Leroy… you can’t do this to their parents, to Finn –”

Terri turned sharply away. “I’m not going to listen to this.”

“You have to listen to this. You’re hurting them, Ter. You’re scaring them. You have to let them go home.”

“And you’ve ruined our first family portrait!” She collected the tripod with short, shaky gestures. “Rachel’s crying and you – I need to go out.”

“Terri, _please_ –”

“No!” She turned a warning finger on him. “That’s enough, Will. I have done enough.” She nodded to Kurt and Rachel. “Take care of your father. I need to run into town.” She left the room with her purse in one hand and the camera in the other, locking the door behind her. Out the window, Rachel could see her throw the tripod and camera into the trunk of her car and take off, mud spraying behind her.

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“I’m so sorry.” Will’s head pounded mercilessly and the fear burning through the drugs in his system only made him sloppier, clumsy and confused. He held Rachel close anyway and told himself it was to comfort her rather than himself. “Kurt…” He reached for Kurt’s hand and missed – he thought at first because he was still shaky from whatever she’d put in his drink, but then he realized Kurt had dodged him, and that the hand in question was swathed in thick white bandages. “She hurt you,” he said blankly, uncertain why it came as a shock to him.

Kurt blanched, staring down at him uncomprehending. “She didn’t actually do this,” he said finally, as if only just realizing it himself.

“Did she let someone else do it? Guys, are you – are you okay? Has she been feeding you, drugging you –?”

“We’re okay,” Rachel said, wiping her face. “We’re okay, I mean, Kurt’s burned and I’m sick to my stomach all the time but she didn’t hurt us, exactly – Mr. Schue, how are my dads?”

“And mine,” Kurt said, voice stretched thin, “my dad’s heart, is he sick again?”

“No, they’re all fine – they’re worried about you, but they’re okay. They’ve been spending a lot of time together. Your family’s all there, Kurt, and Carole – your dad’s in good hands. Quinn is taking care of Finn, she’s been great. Blaine and Mercedes are always together. They’re waiting for you. Burt’s been spending a lot of time with Hiram, too, Rachel. They’ve got your names everywhere. If anyone’s seen you, they’ll find out about it.”

“Mr. Hummel is spending time with my dad?” Rachel looked up at Kurt. “On purpose?”

“Alone?” Kurt agreed. “That doesn’t make me feel better about my chances of seeing my dad alive,” and he stopped, lips pressed tight.

“I’m sorry,” Will said again. “This is – if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.” He held his arm out, and Kurt bent onto his good knee, slow and deliberate, as if it could cancel out the need behind the action, and leaned into him, burying his face. Will held him tight and Kurt’s shoulders quaked. “It’s going to be okay,” he promised, because he had to, because that was what you told kids in a dangerous situation when you were the only adult. “Emma knows where I am and she expected me to call last night. She knows this exact address. They’re going to find you.”

“Are you serious?” Rachel stood up, hands twisted together. “You can’t tell her that, Mr. Schue! Kurt, I was right, we just had to wait – we’re going to get through this and we are going to co-author the most amazing memoir – but you can’t tell Terri.”

“She’s not stupid, Rachel. She’ll realize I must have told someone where I was going. Maybe if I explain things to her –”

“She killed someone,” Kurt said thickly, looking up.

“She – she what?”

Rachel shook her head, but said, “She did. There’s – there are _parts_ – there’s a body upstairs.”

“No,” Will said, almost laughing. Even with the overwhelming evidence he hadn’t been able to believe she’d hurt Kurt, and that had been right – Terri was many things, but a murderer?

“I found it,” Rachel said. “I was trying to get out and I found it.”

“She has a gun,” Kurt added. “We haven’t seen it since we got here, but she threatened us with it when we were… I think we were still in Lima, I don’t know. And Rachel’s right. You can’t tell her that Miss Pillsbury knows where we are.” He looked at Rachel, and even with him pressed against Will’s side, it was like Will wasn’t even there.

They held each other’s gaze and then, finally, Rachel turned back, face drawn and pale. “You’re going to have to follow our lead,” she said hollowly. “We just have to keep holding out. Like we have been.” She smiled, a horrible stretched thing. “We’re going to get out of this,” she promised.

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Emma resigned herself to the fact that she was trapped, utterly and completely. She could either quit, yet again, and try to live with herself, or she could face the humiliation of defeat like a real woman.

With a shamefaced sigh, she closed her game of solitaire without saving anything to her record. She would always know it was there, this game, a stain on her conscience and abilities. The memory might, she thought, last longer than her relationship with Will. After two years of all this foolishness they were finally together, and everything had been going so perfectly. They were living together, and he _fit_ like nothing in her life ever had. They got up at the same time, they ate the same breakfast together, they liked the same movies and traded books without a thought; they’d had to get rid of dozens of double copies when they combined their libraries. She wasn’t ashamed of her problem around him, at least not the way she was around most people, and if she started brushing her teeth at seven they were both done by eight and could cuddle in bed for an hour before lights out.

But then Kurt and Rachel disappeared, and all they had time to do was try to make Burt and Carole and the Berrys feel better; and then Terri called. So now, here she was, staring at a phone with no incoming calls. She’d held off calling Will last night, but filled his inbox this morning by leaving him thirty messages, and now she couldn’t leave any more and his phone wasn’t ringing, just going directly to voicemail, which would be what she’d expect if he were sleeping in with Terri somewhere _or_ lying dead in a ditch, or maybe in a hospital, unconscious – they weren’t married, so how would anyone know to call her?

She’d come to the school in case someone thought to call her office phone, but so far all that had accomplished was a few abysmal games of solitaire, and it had made the churning in her gut worse. Now she was worried that someone would call the apartment and she’d miss that. She kept checking the voice mail, but if Will needed help – she got up, shutting her computer off. This had been a mistake. She needed to go home.

She locked her office and started down the hallway, which was dark and echoing – the school wasn’t closed down completely, but this wing didn’t get much use in the summer. A few janitors and a weekend class for kids who wanted a leg up on their shop class next year were the only other people around, and that wasn’t until later in the afternoon.

Except that it wasn’t _echoing_. There was someone –

“I thought I smelled blood,” said someone right behind her ear, and Emma jumped and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Sue Sylvester settled back on her heels, watching her with a satisfied smirk. “But once again, my usually-infallible sense of smell has been fooled by the crime against nature that is your hair. It’s so red it confuses sensory organs other than the eyes: congratulations, Alma, that is some kind of achievement, and since it’s one of the only one of _those_ you’ll ever have, I’m sure it seems very exciting to you.”

“Sue,” Emma said, a hand still at her throat, waiting for her heart to slow back down. “Why would you _do_ that – right now, with the kids missing, and Will – what are you doing here, anyway?”

Sue hoisted a handful of red and black flyers. “Had to print out some press for my campaign. The people of Ohio need me, Ellen, and I intend to answer their call.”

“Why are you printing those here? That’s not school business, and you had your Cheerio copier moved to your house after Finn Hudson used it that one time.”

“After Finn Hudson _defiled_ it,” Sue spat, “I did sequester my precious machine in the safety of my own home, yes. However, and I don’t expect someone so closely related to a chimpanzee that being a tree-hugger is literally in her blood to understand the complexities of American politics, but bear with me – I have recently discovered that as teachers, our salaries are in fact provided by the taxpayer. And do you know who’s going to elect me?”

She apparently required audience participation. Emma sighed, but obliged. “The taxpayer?”

“That’s right!” Sue winked. “Look at this as an advance. They owe it to me for all of the incredible services I am about to provide for them. Now, I hate to threaten and dash, but I heard you mention Will’s name with an unseemly amount of emotion in your voice, and I just ate lunch. So if you’ll excuse me…”

“You know, Sue, it wouldn’t kill you to show a little human decency, especially if you expect anyone in their right mind to vote for you. Everyone is… just trying so hard to find Kurt and Rachel right now, and all you care about is your campaign. And Will – Terri called him and said it was an emergency and now I haven’t heard from him when he _promised_ –”

“That’s shocking,” Sue said without inflection. “It truly is. And by ‘that’ I of course mean that he lasted two weeks before he ran back to one of the exes he’s accumulated while romancing you.”

“But _Terri_?” Emma protested. “I know Will and I don’t have the best record, but we were doing so well – and Terri was awful to him!”

Sue stared at her – or through her, like she wasn’t even there. “Huh,” she said. “Honey Badger moved to Florida, didn’t she? Good for her. Wash that curly right out of her hair.” And she continued down the hallway, leaving Emma alone again.

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Kurt looked around from the window the second he saw the flash of headlights; no one else ever drove by their house, not that he’d been able to tell. “She’s home,” he said. “Rachel’s right, Mr. Schue. You have to humor her. We can last until someone finds us now that you’re here.”

Mr. Schue shook his head and wiped a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you must have thought… I know I’m the adult here. I wish I could do more.” He looked at Rachel. “But you’re both right. For now, I guess that’s the safest bet. I just can’t believe that this is _Terri_ ,” he burst out. “She’s my wife – she _was_ my wife, for years. I know her better than this. She wouldn’t…”

“She did, though,” Kurt said. “And here she comes. I suggest someone smile. I’m all out.”

Rachel obliged, straightening from her slumped position on the couch and painting on a show face to put Jesse St. James to shame, just as the door opened and Terri came in. She dropped her bags, fastened the padlock and, fortunately, turned directly to Rachel. “Guess which lucky birthday girl has got herself a party in the making?” she cooed.

Rachel looked at Kurt as if he might know the date better than she did. “Is it my birthday?”

“Tomorrow is,” Terri said. “And I am going to give you the best eighteenth birthday party! It’ll be a dream come true.” She laughed when Rachel looked to Will for confirmation. “Baby, I know men are better at math – there are several illuminating schoolyard chants on the subject – but I can read a calendar.”

Will nodded, brow furrowed. “Yes. I mean, it’s your birthday, Terri’s – Terri’s right about that.”

“Thank you for your support,” Terri said. “You always were so supportive, Will.” She put a hand on his cheek. “You know what, kids, why don’t you go your rooms? I have to put these things away for tomorrow and talk to your father about some grown-up stuff.”

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“I’m sorry, our room is just too much of a mess right now,” Terri said as she set blankets and pillows on the couch. “But I’ll make sure you’re comfortable out here tonight, don’t worry.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to be comfortable while chained to a wheelchair,” Will said. “Especially after twenty-four hours.” His legs were already sore from the restricted movement, and it couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen hours so far.

“Just until you’ve settled in.” Terri smiled placidly. “Everything will work out, you’ll see. I’ll take care of you. I meant what I said, Will. You were always so supportive, even if I didn’t appreciate it at the time.”

“Terri, this has got to be some kind of joke. I _wasn’t_ supportive enough, or I would have insisted that you get help years ago, to start with. And you really want to talk about being supportive when your last attempt to deliberately sabotage my career was all of three months ago?”

“Oh, Will. Don’t be so dramatic. Running show choir is not a career.” She paused, then sat down beside the pile of blankets and pillows. “I’m sorry, there I go again. This is going to be a lot of work for both of us, saving our marriage. I won’t deny that. You couldn’t have chosen a dream that was less easy to make fun of?”

Will glanced down the hallway. The kids were safe in one of the rooms down there, nowhere near Terri, and he had agreed to humor her but this… “We’re _not married_ ,” he said.

“Don’t remind me,” she huffed. “The things I wanted from life were very simple, you know. A traditional marriage, to have my own children, and to raise them in a huge house with all the crafting supplies I could ever desire. The American dream. And instead I fell in love with _you_ of all people, and now look at me! A divorcée with two teenagers I didn’t get to raise, living in a hovel in a swamp with a man who can’t even work.” She reached for his hand, and when he avoided her, settled back, face set. “But we’re together again. That’s all I really need. Just you, Will. And now that I realize that I’m going to make this work. No matter what.”

“Let’s be honest, Terri. You didn’t choose me because you love me. It was never about that. You chose me because you knew I wouldn’t leave you.” He knew it was true as soon as he said it out loud. On principle he felt the truth was good and necessary, but this, he would rather not have figured out. It settled behind his ribs, small and cold and humiliating.

“And I was wrong.” Terri did not seem impressed by his epiphany; in fact, she seemed to take it for granted. “Nothing about us worked out the way I wanted it to. That’s my point. Neither of us is the person we wanted to be, neither of us have the life we dreamed of… Neither of us married the person we thought we did.” She reached out again and took his hand, ignoring his attempt to avoid her this time. “But we _know_ that. We’ve had sixteen years to figure it out. We know one another and we know we work together because we’ve been doing it. That horrible ginger hussy isn’t your true love or anything silly like that. She’s just new.” She blinked rapidly and wiped her eyes, though Will didn’t see any tears.

“Terri. We didn’t work –”

“Now, I hope you’re as excited about this party tomorrow as I am!” she interrupted. “This is Rachel’s first birthday with us and it has to be extra special.”

“She wants to spend her birthday with her _parents_ ,” Will said. “Don’t do this to her.”

Terri slapped him. She was still holding his hand, and didn’t let go when his head snapped to the side, only waited for him to turn back to her. “I am fixing,” she said, “everything. It would be a lot easier if you wouldn’t provoke me. I’m in a very delicate emotional state.”

He lifted his free hand to his cheek. It didn’t even hurt that much, or not yet. It stung and he thought he might get a headache soon from the force of it, but at the moment, it didn’t feel awful, physically. “What if I stayed,” he said. “Let Kurt and Rachel go, Ter. Just open the door and let them walk out, and I’ll stay here with you.”

“Kurt and Rachel are our children,” she said, releasing his hand and standing up, brushing her palms on her jeans. “They’re not going anywhere.”

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Three in the morning was an ungodly hour to get a phone call, and Terri fully intended not to put up with it. However, when the person called back three times without leaving a message, she was forced to surrender despite her exhaustion and drag her overworked body to her dresser. She answered it when the fourth call came through and COMMANDER ZOD popped up as the ID.

“Sue?” she said.

“Honey Badger. Good to know you’re still on the alert. Just checking.”

Terri laughed, shrill and twanging. “I wouldn’t say entirely on the alert,” she said. “It’s three in the morning.”

“That’s how I know you’re on the alert.”

“Well, it’s been lovely hearing from you, but…”

“Of course. Go back to bed. Eight to ten hours.”

“You too.”

“Oh, no. Not since the eighties.”

“Goodnight, Sue.”

“Goodnight.”

Terri stared at her phone, then shrugged and turned it off so she could get some sleep. Sue Sylvester was a personal hero of hers, but no one could say the woman was entirely sane. The call had probably been some kind of fluke caused by the ingestion of a substance meant for farm animals. Definitely nothing to lose any more sleep over.

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Rachel slept in Kurt’s room again. He was running a slight temperature and his eyes were glassy, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the constant medication mixed with alcohol or whether he might be getting an infection. She recalled hearing that infections were supposed to smell bad, but burns didn’t smell very nice to begin with and she just wasn’t sure. So she was worried about that, and about hurting Kurt in the night by kicking him or rolling onto him or something, and it had turned out that given enough painkillers, Kurt snored. Her night was not particularly restful.

Terri unlocked the door that morning bright-eyed and wearing a yellow dress and a brighter shade of lipstick than usual. “Good morning, sweetheart!” she cooed, kissing Rachel’s forehead. “How are you feeling? I hope you had a good sleep, because this is going to be a big day – for all of us, but especially you.” She clasped Rachel close for a moment, then twirled her around. “Go on, get dressed, get your brother up! I have breakfast in the works. Your dad and I are so happy to finally have the family together, and your birthday is the perfect excuse to celebrate.”

Rachel was halfway through her mechanical way to her room when she stopped, stomach rebelling, and turned on her heel. She tripped, tangling her right foot in the chain, but righted herself and scrambled into the hallway and on to the dining room. “Mr. Schue,” she gasped as soon as she saw him.

“What’s wrong?” He set aside the blanket over his knees, dropping it over the pillow on the couch and holding out a hand to her. “Rachel, what is it?”

“Oh,” she said, taking the pillow and blanket in and gulping for air. “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry, I was afraid… I thought… nothing, everything’s perfectly all right. I’m going to go get dressed.” She darted back to Kurt. She shook his shoulder until he opened his eyes, sleep-crusted and bleary.

“Whaaaat?” he said, voice creaking. She really had to convince Terri to stop giving him wine.

“I need you,” she hissed. “We have to get dressed and get out there with Mr. Schue.”

“Why?” he whimpered, trying to pull a pillow over his face.

Rachel snatched it. “One of us has to be with him at all times, and I don’t think it should be me. Terri remembers when I thought I had a crush on him, and I really don’t want to remind her.”

“He’s useless,” Kurt said, curling up as much as he could. “He’s always useless. Why are we supposed to be with him anyway? Isn’t he the ‘adult’?” He managed sloppy scare quotes with his good hand. “Let him deal with her.”

Rachel pinched his arm.

“Ow! Are you out of your mind?”

“Come _on_ , Kurt, get up. I know you and Mr. Schue have had your differences, but you don’t want him to get hurt any more than I do.”

“She did all this for him, and she hasn’t hurt us yet,” Kurt objected. “Why would she hurt her beloved husband?”

“Do I really have to spell this out for you? She kidnapped him because she wanted her husband back, Kurt. Husbands and wives… _do_ things together.”

Kurt blanched. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t know, that’s my point! The possibility seems like it merits a little preventative action!” Rachel whispered frantically. “He slept in the dining room last night, I’m pretty sure, but – what if she even… kisses him or something today, it’s _wrong_ and maybe if we’re there she won’t.”

Kurt stared up at her for a moment with a strange, resentful expression. “You’re right,” he said finally. “Help me up.”

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The order of the day was decorating the house for the birthday party. This seemed to Kurt to preclude any change in Terri’s status to include ‘sexual offender,’ since she was the only one who could actually _do_ any decorating. Mr. Schuester was stilled locked into his wheelchair and Kurt himself had an agonizing time just getting to the dining room couch. Rachel was forbidden from any heavy lifting and Kurt had been tasked with giving her a mani-pedi, so she was stuck at the couch as well, soaking her hands and feet in warm water while Kurt bedazzled a HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACHEL banner.

So Terri was the one on her feet. She dragged a chair around the room in order to reach the corners of the ceiling and hang long twists of crepe paper in three different shades of pink, and toted a purse filled with tape, scissors, and paper.

Kurt couldn’t help watching her when he was sure she was occupied, thinking that if she’d just drop the scissors… but the gun could be in the bag too, and the only one of them who could move fast enough to get the scissors in the first place was Rachel. She… wasn’t holding up well. Anyway, he reminded himself, they didn’t need the scissors. Miss Pillsbury would send someone to look for Mr. Schuester. Any minute now they would be saved. None of the fears he couldn’t dismiss ( _what if she’s mad at him and doesn’t tell the police, what if the police think she’s being silly, wht if they can’t find the house_ ) was going to prevent anyone forever. Sooner or later someone would miss Mr. Schuester, and they knew where he was. They just had to look for him hard enough.

“Here,” Mr. Schuester said, startling him from his reverie and putting a hand on the banner. “Let me hold it still?” He had been folding the pink party napkins into the shape of rabbits, but since there were only four napkins it hadn’t taken him very long. Kurt supposed that sixteen years of marriage to Terri would result in an intimate knowledge of some such party-related activity, but was still taken aback. They really were pretty cute.

“Sure.” It was very difficult to bedazzle mostly one-handed. Although the glacial pace at which he was forced to go was also making him _really think_ about his choice in gem placement, with interesting results. He’d started doing spirals inside the bubble letters of “HAPPY”, linked together by threads of graduated colors, and he was a little bit proud of the technique.

“That’s very pretty,” Mr. Schue said, probably mostly out of boredom.

“Thank you. I think so.” He was moving much faster with the banner held still, but didn’t feel remotely charitable enough to mention this. Still – “And I like your napkin rabbits. I’ve always wanted those at parties, but I never get around to learning how to make them, and they’re supposed to have pins for the eyes, aren’t they? So lately I’ve been afraid Finn would impale himself.”

“Oh,” Mr. Schue said, reaching for his pocket and then flushing. “I… don’t have my cell phone.”

“I’m sure Terri will take plenty of pictures.” Kurt tapped the banner. “Hands back on, please.”

“Right.” He secured it again, but shook his head. “No, not for a picture – I wanted to tell Finn that you like napkin animals. He’s been driving himself crazy trying to plan the perfect party for when you and Rachel get back. We were the party planning committee, actually, he and I.”

Kurt laughed, or started to before turning it into a cough. The last thing he wanted was to call Terri’s attention. “Really? What kind of party may we expect on our triumphant return?”

“Probably something centered around _The Wizard of Oz_ and ‘Wicked’ – I think I talked him out of the nautical idea. He wanted your uncle Andy’s boat involved for a while there. And for a week or so, he was thinking of ‘Into the Woods’ as a theme, complete with papier-mâché trees and a toy wolf. He wanted you and Rachel to sing Bernadette Peters’ songs.” He stared down at the banner. “He’s lost without you two. He misses you so much, Kurt.”

Kurt finished the Y in HAPPY and stopped, unable to see through the film over his eyes. He swiped at them awkwardly, trying not to hit himself with the bedazzler. “We miss him,” he said. He hadn’t even thought about Finn recently, really – not Finn or Blaine or Mercedes or Carole. He hadn’t thought about any one person, except sometimes his dad. Mostly he just thought about being _home_ , being safe and not afraid and not in pain.

Mr. Schuester patted his knee. “Blaine misses you, too,” he said. “I don’t see as much of him – he stays with Mercedes – but he’s so sad without you. They’re all waiting for you. You’ll see them soon.” He put his other hand on Rachel’s shoulder. She didn’t seem to notice, staring blankly at her hands. “I promise.”

Kurt thought he would scream if he heard or made one more promise that couldn’t be kept. And still, there was a part of him wanted to hear it again.

“I hope you three are working,” Terri sang out from the other side of the room. “This party isn’t going to decorate itself.”

Kurt ducked his head over the banner. Voice low, he said, “What else has Finn been up to?”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

There were several reasons that Emma wished she had never met Sue Sylvester. Her daily life would have been less stressful, for one thing. She would have heard approximately eighty-four percent fewer jokes about her hair, a very sensitive topic for her. She would have had probably a week’s worth of time _not_ spent cleaning up Sue’s messes or doing damage control. She would have had to question far less frequently her belief that aside from her parents, humans were basically good and well-intentioned, and that when they lashed out it was due to their inner pain rather than a genuine desire to hurt others.

Really, the stress issue was hard to overstate.

Also she would not be on this unplanned flight. She would not be sitting ramrod straight praying that the last thousand people who had used this seat had been hygienic. She would not be wishing she’d brought oxygen so that she could breathe something besides the filthy recycled air coating her lungs right now. She would not be wishing that she might go temporarily deaf so that she could miss the strident calls of “You call this an on-flight beverage? I could produce a more potent on-flight beverage with my left breast” from first class. She would not be having a minor anxiety attack wondering what would happen if the pilot realized she was connected to Sue and put them both on a no-fly list. In short, she would be home, clean, and safe. If only she didn’t know Sue Sylvester.

Right now she wanted nothing more than to curl up on her bed with tissues and a movie, preferably one with an adorable animal as a major character. It had been a day and a half and Will hadn’t so much as called. He had gone to visit his wife of sixteen years, his first and, for most of his life, only girlfriend, and he hadn’t called Emma. No matter how incredulous she’d been initially, she _knew_. She knew what that meant.

Instead, here she was on a plane to Florida, headed for a humiliating and completely horrible confrontation. Because of Sue Sylvester.

At six that morning, Sue had given her a heart attack by throwing open the door to her bedroom. Emma had no idea how she’d gotten into the apartment, or even how she’d known where the apartment was. There hadn’t been a good moment to ask. By the time Emma had stopped screaming and convinced herself it wasn’t a nightmare, Sue had thrown a handful of clothes at her and said, “Get dressed, Angelina, and try not to choose a blouse with so many printed flowers it irritates my allergies. I’m going on a rescue mission, and I’ll need you to staunch the wounds, always assuming that you don’t faint at the sight of blood.” She sounded as though she viewed fainting at the sight of blood as a grave and deliberate character flaw.

“What – what are you talking about, why are you here? Now?” Emma clutched the blanket to her chest. Her nightgown wasn’t at all revealing, but there was nothing like having Sue Sylvester in your bedroom to make you feel exposed.

“I want you to narrow your eyes, Imelda, because if you get them any wider they may well fall out of your head, like those small yappy dogs you resemble in so many ways, and I do not have time to pop them back in. Get up, put on some pumps and an offensively bright skirt, and let’s get going. We have a flight to catch.”

Emma could be assertive. Maybe especially against Sue, because she really had no patience left for the woman. But she could not be assertive at six in the morning, in her bedroom, wearing her nightgown, still half-asleep and with a six-foot woman breathing fire down her neck.

So she ended up in a taxi with Sue Sylvester driving – Sue had called the taxi service in from Columbus and then informed the driver that he would be scooting over. “Where are we going?” she asked, clinging with a tissue to the door handle to keep still in the swerving vehicle. Tissue did not grip well.

“Florida,” Sue said, turning left, the light still red.

Emma shrieked as another car screamed by mere inches from them.

“Someone’s going to call this plate in,” said the man who had delivered the taxi. “I could lose my job!”

“ _Florida_?” Emma repeated.

“I’m sure you listen to plenty of soppy, immature music about fighting for your man.” Sue tapped the dash. “Is ninety as fast as this thing goes?”

Emma closed her eyes when a stop sign whizzed by. “My relationship with Will is none of your business, and I realize that I did share some details with you yesterday, which was foolish and unfair of me, but – I’m confused. You hate Will and me. What are you doing?”

“Well, Amelia, you worry about fighting for your man, and I’m going to take care of fighting for my arch-nemesis. No unsuccessful, backstabbing flunky is going to take my one worthy opponent from me using underhanded means. I’m afraid, Emily, that you’ll just have to accept it: neither your embarrassment of an on-again off-again fling nor Honey Badger’s terrified, desperate clutches can change the fact that William Schuester is, essentially, _mine_.” She shook her head. In the rearview mirror, Emma could see her gazing into the distance. Closer to, the roof of the toll booth sailed above them and Sue yanked the wheel around, spinning them onto the highway. “I’m getting soft in my old age, but Ermengard, I’d be lost without him.”

“You can have the taxi,” said the driver. “Just let me go.”

Now, Emma sat bolt upright and _tried not to think_ about the sweaty man snoring next to her, and Florida rose to meet her.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The party was, at least, pretty. Rachel had to concede that much. It was very pink, but it was pretty. There were streamers along the walls and billowing out from the overhead light in arcs to the corners of the room and balloon bouquets blossoming from the back of her chair, a pile of presents sparkling on the table, and a towering frosted cake. She had no idea how Terri had gotten a cake in without them noticing, but there it sat, covered in little pink roses and some kind of edible confetti-type substance. _Funny Girl_ was not being projected against the wall the way it would have been at home with her dads, and there was no stage, but still, it looked like a normal birthday party. Except for the chains, of course.

She’d never had a birthday without her dads before. She’d never get this one back. She used to worry and fantasize about the first time she’d be too busy with her rehearsal schedule, what with the revival of “Evita” on Broadway that she would star in and produce, to celebrate with her dads. It would be bittersweet and a part of growing up and accepting her responsibilities as an international star. And instead, this was happening.

“I would suggest that we sing happy birthday,” Terri said, beaming and giving Rachel the first slice of cake, “but I think we’ll save it until the presents are open. I know my family will want to make a production out of it.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said, and picked up her fork. She wasn’t even angry about this, or sad, or anything anymore. She felt pleasantly _done_ with all of this. All she had to do was smile, call Terri ‘mom,’ and say appreciative things once in a while. She barely even had to be present.

The cake tasted dry and chalky.

“I want you to open this one first,” Terri said, patting the biggest present. “Then we can finally sing ‘Happy Birthday’!”

“Okay,” Rachel said, and smiled. She stood and leaned over the table, sliding her newly-smooth fingernails under the tape and jerking upwards. The paper, striped candy pink and glittering silver, tore easily, and hard black plastic emerged. She knew what it was, but it took too long for it to sink in. She waited and kept smiling.

“A sound system!” Terri clapped. “I already set it up, baby, and the microphone is all ready. Why don’t you and Kurt sing a little something with your father?”

“Thank you,” Rachel said again. “That sounds nice.”

“Actually,” Mr. Schue touched Terri’s hand. “Would you mind coming into the living room with me for a minute? Kurt and Rachel can warm up on their own. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Oh.” Terri looked put out, but shrugged. “Well, if you two can behave on your own…”

“We’ll be good,” Kurt said acidly. “Mom.”

“Then I guess there’s no harm in a little grown-up time. Make it quick, though, Will. It’s right in the middle of our daughter’s birthday party, after all.”

Mr. Schue looked at Rachel, who she stared back absently. “It’ll only take a second.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“I can’t do this,” Will said as son as they were alone. He didn’t bother trying to turn the chair to face Terri, waiting instead for her to walk around in front of him; he had no idea how Artie managed these things. “You have to stop, Terri. Rachel’s falling apart.”

Terri did not come around to face him. He could feel her standing just behind him, hear her breathing. “I had really hoped you wouldn’t start this again,” she said.

“Well, I guess I’m having trouble developing Stockholm’s Syndrome as quickly as you would have liked. Honestly, what did you think was going to happen? People know that I was coming here. You could make this so much easier on yourself by letting us go right now.”

“Oh, no, darling, I don’t think that would be easier on anyone.” Terri’s hands closed on his shoulders. “Especially you.” Her voice lilted, mocking. “Honestly, what did _you_ think was going to happen when you left me? I really thought that after you’d punished me for lying to you, you’d come to your senses. I admit I was scared there for a while. Really frightened that we were over. But then I took a look at what your life was without me. A dead-end relationship with an April Rhodes substitute, Will, really? Holly could never have loved you and you knew it. And then back to chasing your crazy little red-head, and I understand her appeal, really I do. She worships the ground you walk on. Who wouldn’t find that attractive? I feel like it’s my fault, in a way. Our relationship wasn’t entirely healthy, and I was domineering, so you found the single _easiest_ , most non-threatening woman on the planet. You probably haven’t even slept with her yet. Really, it’s pure high school.” Her hands tightened, then released, and she stepped into view, crouching beside the chair. “But high school is over, Will. We’re married. It’s time to grow up.”

He swallowed hard. “I know this used to work for you,” he managed, “but I’m in love with Emma. What we had is over. You can’t dismiss everything I’m feeling as a stupid throwback to my glory days now. We’re _divorced_.”

“Oh!” Terri stood up and stalked to the window, glaring out it at the driveway where the mud was drying to dust under the sun. “Maybe you should go to one of the kids’ rooms and stay there until I calm down, Will. I’m not feeling up to dealing with this kind of behavior from you today.” She shook her head and started sorting through her purse.

“This isn’t –” Will shook his head. “I asked you in here because of Rachel, not us. If you don’t do anything else, if you keep me, if you keep _Kurt_ ,” and it hurt to say it, but they’d be found soon, it wasn’t so much of a betrayal, not really, “you have to let Rachel go. Blindfold her and drive her somewhere. She’s falling apart, Terri. You’re killing her.”

“Oh, don’t be melodramatic. She’s a little shell-shocked from all the changes and how happy she is about her birthday. Eighteen is a big deal. You know, I have done everything right. I got everything ready, I made sure it would all work with Sugar, and now you’re just… trying to throw it all away.” She cocked her head, staring at something he couldn’t see.

“She’s suffering from emotional trauma, and you don’t know that she’ll ever get better – Sugar?“

“What is Sue doing here?” Terri murmured.

 _“Stay with me, the world is dark and wild,”_ one of the kids sang in the other room, and stopped, the microphone clunking.

“Wait, what?” Will craned his neck, pushing himself up and trying to balance without upsetting the chair. “Sue – Sue Sylvester?”

“And look who’s with her,” Terri said thoughtfully. She turned, leaving her purse on the windowsill, and faced the door. She held her arms out straight, fingers tight around the gun in her hands.

“Terri –” Will said, starting up again.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he heard Sue say just outside the door. “There’s a trick to it, Irma, and the trick is being supernaturally strong due to a strict diet of protein shakes and rage.” The door shuddered.

“What’s going on?” Kurt called from the dining room.

“Nothing, sweetie,” Terri called back. “You two just stay where you are.”

“Oh my God,” Will said. “Sue, she’s got a gun!”

“Will, would you let me handle this?” Terri snapped.

“I have a tracksuit made entirely of Kevlar,” Sue hollered, and the door shuddered again. “Anyway, Honey Badger, this place is surrounded by my elite backup team in three directions, a helicopter of FBI agents above, and _me_. I admire your resourcefulness, but there’s a time to live to fight another day. Or so I hear.”

“Miss Sylvester?” Rachel was standing in the doorway to the dining room, supporting Kurt with one arm. The horrible glassy, vacant look in her eyes was starting to dissipate, and at the worst time. “Mr. Schuester, what’s going on?”

“Get back, Rachel, get out,” he said, trying to turn the chair; she ignored him and walked in, pulling Kurt with her.

“Dad?” Kurt was staring at the door. “Dad?!”

The door slammed open.

Terri shot once, almost absently, in Sue’s direction, and then she turned toward the kids, aiming over Will’s head. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. Be brave for your sister,” she said, and pulled the trigger. Will propelled himself upward as she was still speaking, and was brought up short at the ankles but got high enough to come between her and Kurt.

The sound was deafening, much louder than the first shot. Maybe it just seemed that way because this one hit _him_. He lay on his side, the chair’s wheels spinning noisily behind him, blood pooling beneath his leg, and felt relieved. He’d saved Kurt. That was fair.

He never heard the third shot, but a few seconds before he passed out, Rachel hit the ground beside him, blood covering her face. _Oh,_ he thought, and then he stopped thinking anything at all.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Emma had been knocked backward a step when Sue reeled into her with the force of the shot that hit her chest, and she hadn’t moved since. Her ears rang and her heart pounded.

Sue had lied about the reinforcements, but not, apparently, about the Kevlar. After her momentary lapse, she had launched herself at Terri and grappled her to the floor, yelling about a citizen’s arrest and hurling the gun to a far corner of the room.

Kurt stared at her, face white and blank. She didn’t look down at Will and Rachel.

“Amber,” Sue grunted from her citizen’s arrest, “if you could see your way clear to calling 911 before we lose either Captain Butt-Chin or his sidekick Lady Loudmouth, that would be just swell. It is what I brought you along for, remember?”

“Oh my God,” Emma said, sinking to her knees. “Oh my God.”

“ _Phone_ , Ellen,” Sue repeated.

“Oh my God,” she said again, but pulled her phone out and dialed. “This stupid thing – I have to save it as a contact before I can call – Kurt stop – stop the bleeding –”

“Rachel,” he said finally, dropping to his knees with a gasp of pain. “Rachel no _please_ no,” and he scooped her up against him. Her head flopped back and for a second Emma could see it, through the near-black blood concealing her; the right side of her face was smashed, her eye a pulpy mess.

The phone started ringing against Emma’s ear as she turned away from them to vomit.

“Emma,” said Sue, and it took her too long to realize whom Sue meant; the keys hit her shoulder, making her jump.

“Oh,” she said, and dropped the phone, scrambling to untwist Will’s legs from the chair turned on its side. Everything was too heavy and her knees were slipping in all the blood. The keys slid through her fingers twice, getting slicker each time, before she could turn them in the restraints.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said, clutching Rachel. “I’m sorry, please no, please….” He had taken his shirt off and balled it against the right side of her face. To staunch the blood, Emma realized, and tore her sweater off to do the same for Will. It was too late, it had to be too late – there was so much blood and most of it was his, from his leg –

A tinny voice sounded from the floor and she remembered the phone. “Yes,” she gasped, snatching it up. It was tacky with blood and slid against her ear, hair sticking to it.

She turned away and vomited again.

“Oh, give me the phone,” Sue said. “I have Honey Badger in a foolproof hold anyway.”

Emma didn’t look, only tossed the phone over. Sue would know what to tell them about how to get here. They had found the house themselves because Sue had hacked some kind of military satellite with her iPhone.

She wound her sweater around Will’s leg as tightly as she could manage, trying to remember her first aid lessons at the swimming pool – there was definitely a tourniquet involved, but she could only pull a cashmere sweater so tight and it was already soaked –

“You’ll never have him like I did,” Terri said, quiet and crystal clear. Emma stared at her, uncomprehending.

“She’ll have him alive, though,” Sue said grimly. “That’s a Sue Sylvester promise. Pull that sweater tighter, Effie. Like his life depended on it.”

Emma pulled tighter, and pressed down. Her ears rang. Kurt sobbed. Terri started to cry, and for a moment Emma thought she was laughing.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x **Epilogue** x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Rachel stared vacantly at herself in the mirror and hummed as she brushed her hair out. She never used to hum. Why hum when you could sing? But for months now, ever since she got out of the hospital after Miss Pillsbury found them, she’d had this tune stuck in her head. She found herself humming it constantly. _“Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee…”_ The words were something like that. She thought it might be a hymn. Hardly her usual.

She made a mental note to research the effects of humming on the vocal chords, and promptly forgot.

“Rachel?” Leroy leaned around the door. “Are you ready, sweetie? Kurt and Blaine are here, and Finn is on his fourth bowl of pre-celebration cereal. Your dad is submitting himself to a blow-by-blow report of a sporting event to keep him downstairs, so if you value either of their lives you should probably say yes.”

“All right.” Rachel turned her head slightly to the left, examining herself in the mirror. Her left eye was bloodshot in the corner. The right one wasn’t. She looked straight ahead again. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe no one would have noticed if they hadn’t all been looking for it. She stood up, head very straight, and thought of Eliza Doolittle on her way to the stairs.

“Rachel, honey, I know you’re supposed to keep your head above your shoulders,” Leroy said, putting a hand on her arm. “But you don’t have to balance imaginary books.”

“I’m just playing it safe. My therapist says it’s natural to try to control my surroundings to the utmost of my ability and to avoid all risky behavior because of my PTSD, or possibly because of one of the other ones. Anyway, it’s perfectly normal.”

“Okay, okay.” Leroy maneuvered ahead of her. “Let me announce you.”

Rachel looked carefully over her shoulder; she could just make out her reflection in the bathroom mirror down the hall. She looked normal, from this far away. She looked pretty. She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. It was pink. She’d made it herself.

She took a deep breath and followed her father down the stairs.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Kurt had made a firm resolution to be charitable about this, but: the party Finn had planned as a welcome home event (which had naturally been put off when everyone was found only to be driven directly to the hospital, and for months again because of the trial and Rachel’s surgery) had been turned into a celebration of the unveiling of Rachel Berry. Honestly, he had to admire her for it.

“Would it be wrong to take bets on whether she’ll be wearing knee socks with a miniskirt?” he whispered to Blaine.

Blaine settled closer to him on the couch. “I like her knee socks.”

“Really, Blaine? Say that again and you’re going to have to sit with Finn.” He shifted away, covering it with a smile.

“Hiram, kids,” Leroy called from the bottom of the stairs, “Rachel’s ready.”

Blaine got up first and offered his hand to Kurt, who pretended not to see it and got to his feet with some difficulty, leg protesting and gloved hands slipping on the couch. He had always maintained that, given incentive, he could make _any_ article of clothing work, but gloves were tricky. They had been out of style for two hundred years, for a start. And it wasn’t as if there were a wide variety of choices. It was difficult to even find gloves that weren’t meant to provide warmth. He’d resorted to tailored opera gloves and some eclectic things bought on the internet from people obsessed with the Victorian era. They were next to impossible to design an outfit around, but they were better than the twisted, rippling mess that was his hand.

“Hey,” said Finn, still chewing his cereal. He put an arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “How are you?”

“Still fine, despite the four minutes that have elapsed since you last asked,” Kurt said, voice light.

Rachel did not make the production of her entrance that Kurt would have in her place – or thought he would. He would have before this summer. She paused only once on the stairs before darting down and staring, eyes unnaturally wide. “How does it look?” she said, gaze shifting rapidly between the three of them.

Kurt knew how much Rachel valued honesty. He also knew that Leroy was glaring at them all over her head and that Hiram’s hand was tight on Leroy’s arm, possibly in preparation to fake a debilitating disease if someone started to say the wrong thing. And he knew how vulnerable Rachel was right now. What he did not know, however, was what to say. The right side of her face was still different, swollen and tight from surgery. Her left eye was bloodshot and teary, and her right eye stared straight and perfect and just a touch too large, too still – but they would work all that out, her ocularists. They were being paid enough to, certainly.

He opened his mouth, still unsure what to say, and heard Finn draw breath beside him to say something full of love and good intentions and completely, utterly wrong.

“You look like you.” Blaine’s mouth turned down, then up, and he stepped toward her. Rachel threw herself into his arms, all of her, all at once, arms tight around his neck. Kurt bit his tongue. She didn’t have scars covering half her body like so much crumpled paper; she didn’t _feel_ them there even when they weren’t visible. It was one thing for her to fall all over Blaine.

Kurt sank back under Finn’s arm for the few seconds left before Rachel turned to them. “You look beautiful,” he said then, stepping forward.

Rachel smiled. “Do you like my dress?”

“It’s very pretty.” It was. It made him sick to his stomach.

“Thank you. I made it myself.” She looked up at Finn, her wide, beseeching eyes thrown off by the weight on the right side of her face.

“I love you,” he said, and let go of Kurt to crush her to him. She wrapped around him, easy and open.

Blaine came back to Kurt’s side, reaching absently for his hand, and Kurt jerked to avoid him before realizing it was the good one. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, I –”

“Well, what do you kids say we move this party to the basement?” Hiram put his hands on Rachel’s shoulders. “I know some of us have been dying to hear you break out the karaoke set, and the rest of the party should be here soon.” He looked at Leroy. “Do you have the drinks ready? No one likes to wait on a Shirley Temple; it’s adding insult to injury.”

“Don’t make fun of your daughter’s menu,” Leroy said. Kurt tugged on Blaine’s arm, cocking his head toward the basement.

“I’m sorry,” he said again on the way down

“It’s okay, Kurt,” Blaine insisted, reaching for his hand again. He caught himself up this time. “I’m sorry! I’m – I’m used to touching you. I just don’t know when I can anymore.”

Kurt shook his head. “I don’t either.”

“We’ll wait for you to figure it out.”

He heard the desperation in Blaine’s voice and felt awful – Blaine was afraid Kurt was going to break up with him, he knew it. But addressing the issue would require actual communication, and it would get around to Terri, and his scars, and what had happened, and he just – he couldn’t.

The door slammed overhead and the murmur of voices rose; the rest of the guests had arrived. Rachel wanted to keep things small, and not even New Directions was invited, but Burt and Carole were coming, as well as Will and Emma. Quinn had also been invited, although Kurt wouldn’t take any bets as to whether she’d show up.

The others trooped down the stairs after them, and Kurt hurried over. “Hey, Dad. How’s your Shirley Temple?” He was holding it like he thought it might jump out of the glass and bite him.

“It’s very bright,” Burt said. “You want it?”

“Empty calories,” Kurt dismissed. “You can’t drink it either, Dad. Your heart.” He took it and handed it imperiously to Carole.

“Thank you.” Carole downed most of it in one gulp. “He never listens to me about food.”

“I’d have listened to you about this if Hiram had given me a chance.”

“It’s made with real grenadine,” Rachel called on her way down the stairs, stiff-backed and clinging to the wall. “I cooked the pomegranates myself.”

“That’s real impressive, kid,” Burt said fiercely, as though someone might contradict him. Kurt leaned into his side, and his dad pulled him close.

“Who still needs a Shirley Temple?” Miss Pillsbury asked, maneuvering the stairs with a tray full of them. She was followed, very slowly, by Mr. Schuester.

“Oh, me!” Blaine moved closer, reaching to help with the tray.

“I can’t wait to tell Finn how impressed I am by the decorations,” Carole said, toeing the cardboard yellow brick road, which swooped twice around the room before running out of space and crossing over itself to lead to the stage.

“He outdid himself,” Kurt agreed, although technically Finn would have outdone himself by taping some streamers to the wall, given that he had nothing to outdo.

“I’m a very lucky woman.” Carole leaned against Burt’s other side. “I’m proud of all my boys,” and she reached over to touch Kurt’s cheek.

Kurt dodged her, protesting, “Remember _Contagion_? We don’t touch the face, Mom –” and he stopped, sick.

Carole blanched, and his dad’s arm slackened on his shoulder before pulling painfully tight. She recovered quickly, eyes soft. “Kurt,” she said. “It’s okay.”

Kurt stepped away. “I’m going to go talk to Rachel.” He put a hand to his stomach as he fled up the stairs, avoiding Blaine’s gaze, and his dad’s, and Carole’s. They couldn’t talk about it here. Not during Rachel’s party. It wasn’t even the first time it had happened since he got back. That didn’t make it any better.

Rachel was standing at the front door, flanked by Hiram and Leroy. Quinn, barely visible around the three of them, stood on the front steps. She was holding an envelope.

“I’m just not ready,” Rachel said. “Can you tell her I’m sorry?”

“I will.” Quinn held the envelope out. “She already understands that, though. That’s why she wanted me to give you this.”

Rachel leaned away, into Leroy.

“Ah, thank you, Quinn, but this is, if I may suggest, not the best time for that, either,” Hiram said.

“She’s Rachel’s mother.” Quinn smiled, brittle and false. She shone in the sunlight, all perfect blonde hair and clean white dress. “I just think she should be able to send her own daughter a note when something this big has happened.”

“I changed my mind.” Rachel stepped away from Leroy, back into the house, and saw Kurt. “Quinn, you’re not invited anymore. I want you to leave.” She hurried over to him, and he put his arms around her. She slotted against him, the right side of her face hidden against his chest.

“Thank you for the effort,” said Leroy. “I’m sure Shelby will be willing to wait.”

“It was lovely of you to go out of your way,” said Hiram. He sounded somewhat other than grateful.

Quinn’s jaw set. “Fine. I understand. Rachel, congratulations. You look beautiful.” She turned on her heel and Hiram closed the door.

“I don’t like that girl,” he said.

“Don’t, Dad. Quinn is my friend.” Rachel shook her head. “I just can’t deal with Shelby right now.”

“You don’t have to,” Leroy said, one hand on Hiram’s back. His face was drawn, jaw flexed; he sounded nothing but concerned.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Rachel said, and turned toward them.

“Rachel.” Hiram beckoned to her, and she stepped toward him.

Kurt had the impression that this was about to become a private family moment. Feeling harried, he retreated to the basement stairs.

Finn met him coming from the kitchen with another tray of Shirley Temples. He looked over Kurt’s head, craning to see the vestibule. “Is Quinn here?”

“Eyes on your drinks,” Kurt said, steering him away. “And no. She got here, but she had a message from Shelby and Rachel freaked out. I’d let her alone with her dads right now if I were you.”

“Oh, wow.” Finn started his precarious way down the basement stairs. “That’s super awkward. I get why Shelby came back when she heard, but…”

“You’d think that she could recognize that the last thing Rachel needs right now is a ‘mother’ coming between her and her dads again,” Kurt finished in a rush, and had to stop for breath.

“…Yeah. I guess. What you said.” Finn stopped on the landing. The glasses swayed and tinkled on the tray, and Kurt winced. “Look, Kurt, my mom loves you.”

“I know.” Kurt drew back, stiffening. “I love Carole too. That’s not the point.”

“…Do you want us to go away?” Finn looked down into the fragile fluted glasses. Bubbles flew up from the bottom and popped at the surface. “I heard them talking about it. If we went away for a while and you could have your dad to yourself.”

 _Yes_ , Kurt thought, and then imagined being home alone while his dad was at the shop on weekends or running errands or at a game – and imagined having to ask him not to do those things, or to let Kurt come. “No,” he said tightly. “I want you here.”

“Good.” Finn nodded. “I want to hug you right now, but I can’t with the drinks in the way.”

“That’s okay.”

They came out into the basement, and Kurt stopped to really take it in – the four walls hung with red, blue, yellow, and purple streamers respectively; the stage covered in green and with a green cardboard castle. There were flying monkeys hanging from the ceiling, felt ones attached with scotch tape, and an old-fashioned broom dangling from the light fixture.

“This is really amazing,” he said.

Finn smiled. “It was pretty awesome of Rachel’s dads to let me do it. I think Leroy almost passed out when I started putting tape on the ceiling.”

“Well, you’re a rebel that way.” Kurt patted his shoulder and took the long way around the table to his dad, avoiding Carole and Blaine, who were sharing the couch and a plate of green cookies cut like emeralds.

“Hey, buddy.” He had been watching ever since Kurt came back into view, and studied Kurt’s face minutely now. “You want to go home?”

Kurt returned the favor, checking for paleness or the odd waxy quality his dad’s skin got when he was feeling sick. “No! No, the party just started. It’ll be great.” He slumped against his father’s side once he was sure his health checked out, though and let his head fall on his shoulder. “I’m just going to rest here until Rachel comes down and really lights things up.”

“Yeah? If anyone can sleep standing, it’s you.” Burt wrapped an arm around him. “Go ahead, take a nap. She’ll wake you up when she gets down, that’s for sure.”

“Yes, she will.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Will hadn’t heard Kurt follow him. Of course, he hadn’t heard anything, too focused on completing the task at hand: a flight of stairs. And Kurt could walk silently compared to him, no dragging or gasping.

“Hey,” he said. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing. Well, quite a lot of celebration. I needed some air. Do you want help?”

“I wouldn’t mind a hand to the couch,” Will conceded. The constant offers of aid didn’t bother him, in a good mood. He could appreciate the need to feel useful – to feel anything besides helpless.

Kurt slipped under his arm to support him, taking his weight easily, and for the first time in three years it occurred to him that Kurt had _grown_. He didn’t remember how he’d looked in New Directions’ first year, unable to see past the way he was now, but he was certain it would have been a much longer drop to Kurt’s shoulder back then. Not to mention Kurt probably couldn’t have lowered him to the couch so easily. They were growing up, his kids. Finn and Rachel, Santana, Kurt, Mike. Eighteen already. And Kurt and Rachel were making headlines, still in high school – for all the worst reasons.

“Do you ever wish…” He looked down at his lap. Kurt sat beside him, and Will did not look over at his hands, gloved, one of them twisted and painful. “If Sandy were still your choir director, none of this would have happened.”

Kurt didn’t answer, really, but then, Will hadn’t really asked the question. “You’d still be married to her,” he said instead.

“Maybe.”

“Oh, you would. You’d be an accountant. We saved you.” He felt Kurt turn to look at him, but didn’t look back. “Thank you. Jumping in front of me was very brave. And it’s nice not to have a bullet wound on top of…” he waved his hand at himself. He did not mention death as a possibility.

“I don’t think it was brave,” said Will, who really didn’t mind being told otherwise. “I didn’t think about it.”

“Thank you anyway.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rachel appeared in the doorway, and Will realized he’d been expecting her. She walked over, back straight as a pin, and sat carefully between them. “Apart from my victim impact statement and my speech at the memorial for Sugar Motta, I’ve been extraordinarily brave and silent about this,” she said without preamble.

“We know,” Kurt said, nudging her foot with his.

“And I’m trying to be happy for my party.”

“We know,” Will said, patting her knee.

“But I’m missing an eye. There’s a piece of plastic in my head that still doesn’t move enough to fool anyone, I can’t see, I can’t dance – and who ever heard of an international superstar in show business with a prosthetic eye? Don’t say Sammy Davis Jr., he was already famous when it happened and he’s a man.”

“He was before the internet, too.” Kurt rubbed his hands together. “Before everyone knew what you looked like and devoted entire websites to discussing it.”

“If I have to assign a month-long Britney Spears lesson, to boost your self-esteem, I’ll do it,” Will said. They didn’t laugh. Neither did he. He didn’t have a future career to worry about, but he had loved to dance. And now –

“I’m only listing my disadvantages academically,” Rachel said. “What matters is the press we’ve gotten from this and the overcoming obstacles essays we’re going to be able to write.”

Kurt shook his head. “The last thing I want to do is…”

“Talk about it,” Will supplied. _Ever again. Even in passing._ “Yeah.”

“My depth perception and balance are shot. My right eye is always going to look too big and motionless and it’s going to affect my acting,” Rachel said, voice terribly even. “I can’t – I can’t even make the expressions I used to, my face isn’t… And your leg, Kurt. Even once your family has the money for surgery on that, or if you take Al Motta up on his offer to pay in honor of his daughter. Say if it’s completely successful, that will still be months out from whatever you’re doing at the time for recovery and physical therapy. We still don’t know if they’ll be able to fix your hand at all.”

“A purely academic list,” Kurt said dryly.

“Rachel,” Will protested. He knew what a relief it was to be honest about how bad things were, had said horrible things to Emma about what his life would be like with a chunk of his thigh missing, but to bring Kurt into it…

“I’m just saying that our odds are pretty bad,” Rachel continued, unperturbed. “We have to use the advantage we have – any advantage we have.” She turned to Will. “Even if you never do get to go to New York, you could lever tenure out of this.”

Kurt leaned into her, staring through the wall.

“I’m only being realistic,” Rachel said. “We have to be honest with ourselves.” She waited, and Will waited, and Kurt made no move that Will could see but Rachel nodded as if he’d agreed with her. “We have to be practical,” she murmured, and wound her hands through theirs, one on each side.

“What we have to do is get back to your party,” Will said. “Before someone comes looking for the guest of honor.”

“All right.” She looked at Kurt. “First I want you to promise me something.”

“Okay.” Kurt met her eyes slowly.

“We’re going to do whatever it takes. Aren’t we, Kurt. Promise.”

Kurt swallowed. “I promise.”

Will had missed something important, he was sure of it. Kurt helped him up, though, and Rachel hurried back to the basement ahead of them, conversation over, and he was too late. He never got to ask.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 _“Guardian angels God will send thee,”_ Terri hummed, needles clicking and with one eye on the communal TV. Thank God for whatever study had shown that knitting was helpful for convicted felons; she would have gone absolutely crazy without something crafty to do.

“Who’re you making that for?” asked Rosa, who was a lovely woman despite the fact that orange did nothing for her complexion. Terri was sure that backing her car up over her husband had been a misunderstanding of some kind. “It’s so… sparkly.”

“Oh, do you like it?” Terri beamed, shaking it out. The yarn was dark green, shot through with sparkling silver threads. “It’s a sweater for my son. I have one all ready for my daughter. It’s absolute torture being here without them.” She sighed and set the sweater down, looking instead at the TV. Kurt and Rachel were being interviewed by CNN this time. She had learned after their first few interviews to insist on the sound being off; they said the most ridiculous things about her. But it was such a relief to get to see them – the way Kurt’s chin lifted when he spoke; the way Rachel played with the hem of her skirt when she was silent. It was yellow this time, but still made by hand. Just like Terri had taught her.

Sue was with them. She often was. Terri resented her for it, but thought from the few interviews she’d listened to that it was for the best. Sue could head the reporters off when the questions were too hard for the kids. Someone had to look out for them, after all, while Terri was gone. Al Motta came on sometimes as well, but he didn’t look up to any kind of job. He just stared dead into the camera and reminded everyone to come forward if they found any trace of his daughter’s body.

It was too bad Will was never on. She liked to think it was because he couldn’t bring himself to say bad things about her; the kids were just kids, but Will knew better. That didn’t change the fact that she missed seeing him.

Terri picked her knitting back up. She had to have presents for them. She wasn’t allowed to send things, apparently; she’d discussed it with her lawyer. Still, she wanted to have something ready just in case. “I can’t wait to see them again,” she said, and settled into her chair, humming again. _“I, my loving vigil keeping, clear through the night…”_

 


End file.
